THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


Richard  Petrie 


OUT  THERE 


{Courtesy  of  Getieral  Press  Organization) 

Old  Glory  in  London 


OUT   THERE 


BY 

CHARLES  W.  WHITEHAIR 


ILLUSTRATED 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


D 


TO  THE  LADS  WHO  GO  OVER  THE  TOP 


^vjk^^^  -A.f^ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     Getting  the   Range 11 

II.     The  Lonely  Road  to  Zero     ....  25 

III.     The  Path  of  the  Walking  Wounded    .  38 

IV.     The  World  Upside  Down      ....  53 
V.     Helping   Carry  the   Old   Kit   Bag  at 

THE  Front 69 

VI.     Where  Suffering  Lips  are  Dumb     .      .  90 
VII.     "I  WAS  Sick  and  in  Prison  and  Ye  Came 

Unto  Me" 99 

VIII.     In  the  Melting  Pot 11 4 

IX.     France  Cannot  Die 132 

X.     London — Paris 140 

XL     At  the  War  with  the  Yankees     .      .  147 

XII.     Answering  the  Call 159 

XIII.     Homesick?     Yes .  179 

XJV.     Keeping  the  Home  Fires  Burning  .      .  189 

XV.     Egyptian   Nights 200 

XVL     "Where    There    Ain't    No    Ten    Com- 
mandments"         217 

XVII.    I  Just  Want  to  do  My  Bit  .     ,.      .     ,.,     233 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 
Old  Glory  in  London Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Cellar  on  the  Ypres  Salient 31 

Interior  of  the  cellar 31 

The  walking  wounded 41 

A  touch  of  home  on  the  border  of  No  Man's  Land  41 
In  spite  of  the  mud,  slush  and  Boche,  the  fun  goes 

on 61 

Where  the  bullets  always  whine 61 

Y.  M.  C.  A.  hut  destroyed  by  shell  fire  in  1917      .  75 

The  Anderson  hut,  somewhere  in  France  ...  76 

Entrance  to   Queen  Alexandria   dugout      ...  80 
Interior   of   the   Queen    Alexandria   dugout   after 

bombardment 81 

At  home  and  happy  out  there 15S 

It's  not  all  drill,  drill,  drill  over  there    .      .      .  153 

Foyer  du  soldat 171 

Church  parade,  "Where  there  ain't  no  Ten  Com- 
mandments"           205 

At  the  outpost  of  the  empire 225 

After  the  Waza  war 225 


CHAPTER   I 


'getting  the  range" 


We  are  at  the  Front.  "Zero"  is  Thursday 
morning — Tomorrow  morning.  The  big 
"push"  is  now  on. 

Long  after  midnight  we  crawl  into  our 
bunks;  but  sleep  is  far,  far  away.  To  sleep 
is  almost  impossible,  because  of  the  clanking, 
stamping  feet  of  the  thousands  of  men  who 
are  marching  by.  The  men  marching  past 
are  "going  in."  Silent,  resolute  and  deter- 
mined they  pass  on  into  the  night,  no  singing, 
no  whistling,  no  talking.  They  are  all  rested, 
fully  equipped  and  ready  to  face  what  lies 
ahead.  Many  have  been  in  before  and  know 
what  they  must  face.  Others  are  going  in  for 
the  first  time ;  nervous  and  uneasy,  yet  quietly 
marching  on  into  the  trenches.  Over  all  of 
them  hangs  a  deadly  silence.  Yet  they  are 
full  of  calm  and  quiet  determination. 

"Coming    out"    is    another    story.     Dirty, 
11 


OUT  THERE 

muddy  and  weary,  yet  cheerful  and  happy — 
behind  them  the  smells,  the  rats,  the  bugs  and 
all  other  creeping  things,  ahead  of  them  a  hot 
bath,  clean  clothes,  warm  food  and  sleep,  sleep, 
sleep — just  think  of  it!  Of  course  they  are 
singing.  It  is  here  the  most  simple  things  of 
life  become  great  luxuries.  Warm  baths,  hot 
food,  plenty  of  smoke  and  dry  clothes  make 
life  happy  and  contented. 

We  fall  asleep  with  the  song  of  the  march- 
ing men  who  are  "coming  out"  ringing  in  our 
ears: 

Way  down  upon  the  Swannee  River, 

Far,  far  away. 
There's  where  my  heart  is  turning  ever, 

There's  where  the  old  folks  stay. 
All  up  and  down  the  whole  creation, 

Sadly  I  roam. 
Still  sighing  for  the  old  plantation. 

And  for  the  old  folks  at  home. 

Early  next  morning,  we  are  called  out  to  see 
the  Boche  machine  that  is  trying  to  get  over 
the  line.  But  the  anti-aircraft  guns  cracking 
all  around  keep  the  Boche  plane  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  at  last  he  turns  and  makes  for 
his  own  line. 

12 


"GETTmO  THE  RANGE" 

All  day  long  we  go  up  and  down  the  lines. 
We  enter  villages  where  every  single  room  in 
every  single  house  has  been  built  by  shells, 
where  absolutely  the  whole  village  has  been 
pounded  level  with  the  ground. 

The  roads  are  jammed  with  traffic.  On 
one  side  the  men  are  marching  up  by  the 
thousands — the  great  motor  lorries  are  going 
forward  with  men  and  supplies — the  gun  car- 
riages are  carrying  up  fodder  for  the  guns. 
The  Despatch  riders  are  going  by  on  their 
motor  cycles.  All  traffic  makes  way  for  these 
Dare-Devil  riders.  They  go  dashing  by  bear- 
ing their  orders.  The  pigeon  carriers  with 
the  cages  of  pigeons  on  their  cycles  are  rush- 
ing for  some  objective  far  up  the  hne.  In 
this  war,  man,  beast  and  bird  have  all  been 
drawn  into  service.  Wire  and  wireless  may 
break  down,  so  the  pigeons  are  daily  given 
their  practice  flight  preparing  for  the  time 
when  they  must  do  their  bit  in  this  death 
grapple. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  road  the  men  who 
have  done  their  turn  in  the  trenches  are  com- 
ing out,  the  empty  lorries  are  coming  back  for 

13 


OUT  THERE 

supplies  and  ammunition.     The  empty  gun 
carriages  are  rolling  past. 

In  the  fields  all  around  us  are  the  men 
drawn  up  in  line  for  the  final  inspection.  The 
young  ojBicers  quietly  move  down  the  line. 
Rifles  and  bayonets  must  be  perfect,  for  no 
sham  battle  lies  ahead.  Gas  masks  are  exam- 
ined; some  are  cast  aside  and  fresh  ones  se- 
cured, for  no  man's  hfe  must  be  lost  through 
an  imperfect  gas  mask.  All  equipment  must 
be  in  perfect  condition. 

The  word  "Forward"  is  given.  They  swing 
into  the  road  that  leads  down  the  trench  and 
"Over  the  Top." 

High  up  in  the  heavens,  the  great  observa- 
tion balloons  are  hanging.  The  planes  over- 
head are  droning  like  great  swarms  of  bees, 
as  they  keep  back  the  German  aviators  who 
try  to  come  over  the  line;  also  they  are  flying 
over  Fritz's  line,  for  in  this  war  the  aircraft 
are  the  eyes  of  the  army. 

Never  have  we  seen  crowds  like  the  crowd 
we  are  now  in,  but,  contrary  to  any  other 
crowd,  it  all  seems  to  be  rushing  forward  with 
one  single  mind  and  with  one  single  purpose. 

14 


"GETTING  THE  RANGE" 

We  start  up  Messiner  Ridge  some  fifty  feet 
apart,  for  high  up  we  see  the  great  German 
balloons  which  are  always  silently  watching 
the  activities  on  our  side  of  the  line,  just  as 
the  balloons  of  the  Allied  forces  are  watch- 
ing on  Fritz's  side.  We  can  walk  above  the 
ground  now.  Fritz  is  not  wasting  shrapnel 
on  lone  men. 

We  step  very  carefully  in  order  not  to  kick 
some  unexploded  bomb  or  fall  into  a  shell 
hole.  We  are  walking  over  ground  where 
every  single  yard  has  been  hit  by  shells;  not 
only  once,  but  time  after  time  has  it  been 
churned  and  rechumed.  We  are  treading  in 
the  valley  of  destruction  and  death — the  entire 
hill  has  been  swept  by  the  broom  of  death. 
Every  square  foot  has  been  made  sacred  by 
the  best  blood  of  the  British  Empire. 

All  around,  the  guns  are  carefully  con- 
cealed in  their  gunpits.  The  camouflaging 
here  must  be  perfect,  all  of  the  guns  being  un- 
der the  eyes  of  the  German  observers  who  are 
constantly  looking  down  over  the  lines.  The 
"woolly  bear"  shrapnel  is  bursting,  the  great 
high  shells  are  whistling  over.     On  beyond 

15 


OUT  THERE 

the  summit  of  the  hill,  the  great  high  explo- 
sive shells  are  falling. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  just  how  I  would 
act  and  feel  when  I  came  under  shell  fire,  but 
it  is  one  thing  to  sit  by  a  comfortable  fire  and 
work  out  your  theories  and  another  thing  to  go 
up  on  the  side  of  the  hill  with  the  shells  fall- 
ing all  around.  One  of  my  friends,  a  former 
Harvard  football  captain,  turned  and  asked 
me  how  I  felt.  "Almost  scared  to  death,"  was 
my  reply,  and  he  answered,  "So  am  I." 

Lying  in  a  shell  hole,  I  noticed  the  engi- 
neers putting  in  a  line  of  white  posts.  This  is 
the  path  back  from  "No  Man's  Land"  for  the 
men  who  fall  and  must  walk  back — "the  walk- 
ing wounded." 

This  may  seem  strange  in  the  light  of  all 
the  talk  we  have  heard  back  in  America  re- 
garding the  way  the  men  go  into  the  line 
cheering  and  singing.  I  have  yet  to  meet  a 
man  under  shell  fire  who  says  he  likes  it. 
Men  do  not  like  it.  I  firmly  believe  that 
every  single  man  who  goes  into  the  line  for 
the  first  time  is  truly  frightened.  Men  do  not 
come  to  like  it,  but  they  do  become  reconciled 

16^ 


"GETTING  THE  RANGE" 

to  it,  and  certainly  in  a  sense  accustomed  to 
the  heavy  shell  fire.  But  walking  into  shell 
fire  never  is  a  habit  they  have  to  break. 

We  lie  on  the  edge  of  a  great  crater  which 
had  been  made  by  one  of  the  seventeen  mines 
which  had  been  touched  off  in  June,  when 
thousands  of  Germans  "went  west"  and  the 
Allies  took  another  step  toward  Berlin.  The 
crater  is  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  across, 
eighty  to  one  hundred  feet  deep,  and  four 
hundred  to  five  hundred  feet  around. 

A  few  hundred  feet  down  the  side  of  the 
hill  the  German  high  explosive  shells  are 
bursting  near  one  of  the  British  batteries, 
which  they  succeeded  in  locating.  Every  few 
minutes  a  shell  comes  over.  It  bursts  uncom- 
fortably near  where  the  men  are  working  their 
guns.  As  the  shell  explodes,  the  men  duck 
into  the  dugout  around  the  gun,  waiting  for 
the  rocks,  stones  and  pieces  of  shell  which 
have  broken  high  in  the  air  to  come  down. 
Then  they  rush  out  of  the  dugout,  load  the 
gun,  and  fire  it  without  apparent  excitement. 
In  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  know  Fritz  has 
located  their  gun,  they  "carry  on." 

17 


OUT  THERE 

Our  attention  is  now  directed  to  the  sky. 
Eight  German  planes  are  coming  over  to- 
ward the  British  lines.  Everywhere  the  Brit- 
ish planes  are  climbing  up  to  get  to  them. 
The  anti-aircraft  guns  are  firing.  There  are 
no  braver  men  in  the  world  than  these 
"Knights  of  the  Air."  High  up  in  the 
heavens  they  wend  their  solitary  and  lonely 
flight  where  constant  presence  of  mind,  superb 
confidence  and  heroic  bravery,  are  always  re- 
quired. They  rush  to  glorious  victory,  bring- 
ing down  the  enemy  machine — or  to  their  own 
sudden  death. 

We  may  well  lie  spellbound  as  we  watch 
the  battle  of  democracy  fought  out  far  above 
the  earth — far  above  the  shells,  which  are 
bursting  below  the  planes. 

We  leave  Messiner  Ridge  and  go  to  Wyts- 
chaete  Hill,  and  wander  in  and  around  the 
great  guns — it  fairly  bristles  with  them. 

We  walk  in  and  around  the  German  dug- 
outs, for  it  was  here  they  stubbornly  fought 
for  every  inch  of  ground.  We  are  told  that 
we  are  standing  near  one  of  the  famous  "O 
Pips"  (observation  points)  of  the  whole  sali- 

18 


"GETTING  THE  RANGE" 

ent,  an  observation  point  that  was  never  dis- 
covered until  after  the  line  was  captured.  We 
try  to  discover  it,  but  all  we  can  see  is  a  large 
number  of  snags  and  stumps  of  old  trees.  At 
last  our  hands  are  placed  upon  an  old  snag 
of  a  tree  sticking  about  six  feet  above  the 
ground.  We  find  upon  investigation  it  is  a 
gas  pipe  covered  with  bark.  Mounted  in  it 
had  been  a  periscope  pointing  toward  the 
British  lines. 

It  is  sticking  up  out  of  a  "pill  box."  The 
machine  guns  which  were  mounted  inside  had 
swept  the  British  lines  as  well  as  the  artillery 
fire  which  was  directed  from  it.  Many  a 
brave  British  lad  had  "gone  west"  because  of 
this  hell  trap. 

We  stand  in  an  old  Y.  M.  C.  A.  dugout  and 
watch  the  secretary,  who  is  an  old  Padre  past 
sixty-five  years  of  age,  handing  out  the  piece 
of  chocolate,  a  cigarette  or  a  cup  of  tea  to 
many  a  lad  who  is  making  his  last  visit  to  the 
dugout.  Two  weeks  ago  they  were  using  a 
dugout  farther  up  the  line.  It  was  blown  to 
pieces  and  every  man  was  killed. 

Fortunately  the  secretary  was  outside.  For 
19 


OUT  THERE 

three  months  he  has  been  on  or  near  his  pres- 
ent location.  He  does  not  look  into  the  face 
of  a  single  man  who  is  not  in  the  presence  of 
death.  "I  never  have  seen  a  more  Christhke 
service  than  that  which  you  are  rendering 
here,"  I  told  him.  He  repHes  with  a  smile, 
"Why,  I  am  not  doing  anything,  just  stick- 
ing it  out  and  taking  things  as  they  come." 
You  can  hear  his  last  word  to  the  men  as  they 
go  by — "Goodbye,  lads,  good  luck  and  God 
bless  you." 

Near  one  of  the  guns  stands  a  young  Lieu- 
tenant. He  asks  us  if  we  don't  "want  to  see 
the  show." 

There  he  stands,  megaphone  in  hand,  hit- 
ting his  leather  legging  with  his  little  walking 
stick,  calling  out  to  the  great  five  machines 
of  death  all  under  the  sound  of  his  voice — 
"Fire,  number  one — fire,  number  two — fire, 
number  three."     And  each  is  fired. 

We  take  our  stand  behind  one  of  the  great 
guns — watching. 

After  the  shell  has  gone  screaming  from 
the  end  of  the  gun,  the  Sergeant  and  his  men 
rush  up.     They  throw  into  the  gim  another 

£0 


"GETTING  THE  RANGE" 

shell,  then  the  charge.  The  breech  is  slammed 
shut. 

The  sergeant  jumps  back,  stands  at  atten- 
tion and  calls  out,  "Number  one  ready  to  fire. 
Sir." 

Far  up  in  the  heavens  over  our  heads  hangs 
a  great  captive  balloon.  In  the  balloon  is  a 
young  British  officer.  His  field  glasses  are 
screwed  to  his  eyes,  telephone  receiver  to  his 
ears.  He  is  the  eyes  and  the  director  of  the 
battery  by  which  we  are  standing.  Intently 
he  watches  down  over  the  line  to  see  where 
the  shells  are  falling.  As  the  shell  explodes 
he  calls  into  his  telephone  his  directions  for 
the  next  shell.  "Change  No.  one — point  five 
—left  seven  O." 

None  of  the  great  guns  are  being  fired  by 
charge,  all  of  them  are  being  directed  by  an 
observation  officer  who  sees  where  they  are 
falling  and  directs  his  battery  accordingly. 
If  not  in  a  balloon,  then  away  up  in  the  front 
line  or  in  No  Man's  Land  in  an  old  ruin  or  a 
shell  hole,  lies  the  young  observation  officer. 
He  must  be  more  careful  than  the  officer  in 
the  balloon,  for  he  is  exposed  many  times  to 

21 


OUT  THERE 

the  German  snipers.  If  they  can  kill  the  ob- 
servation officer,  they  have  blinded  the  eyes  of 
the  Battery. 

Carefully  from  his  "O  Pip"  (observation 
point)  he  whispers  his  orders  into  his  tele- 
phone receiver.  Again  the  eyes  of  the  battery 
may  be  away  up  in  that  little  British  air  plane. 
It  is  dodging  in  and  out  of  the  German 
shrapnel  exploding  all  around  as  it  darts  here 
and  there  over  Fritz's  line,  ticking  off  his 
directions  on  his  wireless. 

Beside  the  battery  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
feet  below  the  ground  in  an  old  dugout  sit 
two  young  officers,  telephone  receivers  to  their 
ears,  receiving  the  orders  that  are  coming 
from  the  observation  officer.  Quietly  and 
calmly  they  check  on  their  charts  where  the 
shells  have  fallen,  for  an  accurate  record  must 
be  kept  of  all  the  shells  in  reciprocal  gun  fire. 

They  call  up  the  directions  to  the  young 
officer  who  is  calling  out  the  orders  to  these 
five  great  machines  of  death. 

As  we  look  at  our  watch  within  three  min- 
utes after  the  shell  has  been  fired  from  one 
of    these    great    guns,    orders    are    received, 


"GETTING  THE  RANGE" 

checked  up  and  our  Young  Friend  is  calling 
out  again: 

"Number  one,  change." 

Immediately  the  man  who  is  working  the 
gun  changes  the  range,  jumps  back  with 
string  in  hand,  ready  to  pull;  the  Sergeant 
once  more  calls  out,  "Number  one  ready  to 
fire,  Sir." 

"Number  one,  fire." 

Finally  word  comes  back: 

"Number  one  or  number  two  repeat." 

We  know  what  this  means.  They  have 
found  the  range. 

"See  if  you  can  follow  the  shell  with  your 
eyes,"  calls  the  Lieutenant  as  I  stand  behind 
the  firing  battery. 

Taking  my  stand  some  twenty  feet  behind 
the  gun,  with  open  mouth  and  lax  body,  for 
the  concussion  is  terrible,  I  focus  my  eyes 
in  line  with  the  barrel  of  the  great  gun.  It  is 
fired.  I  fail  to  see  the  shell  and  decide  that 
the  talk  about  seeing  a  shell  in  the  air  is  all 
false.  But  the  young  lieutenant  insists  that 
I  can  see  it  if  I  stand  at  the  right  place  and 
direct  my  eyes  properly.     I  change  my  posi- 

23 


OUT  THERE 

tion  and  get  all  set,  but  just  before  the  word 
is  given  to  fire  a  great  12-inch  Howitzer  some 
distance  behind  me  was  fired,  and  I  am  quite 
certain  that  the  men  on  the  battery  made  up 
their  minds  I  had  decided  to  follow  the  shell 
as  I  jumped  into  the  air.  Certainly  I  must 
have  broken  the  high  jump  record  for  all  time, 
in  spite  of  my  two  hundred  and  twenty-five 
pounds  of  weight.  It  goes  without  stating 
that  the  men  on  the  battery  had  a  big  laugh 
at  my  expense. 

Once  more  I  get  set,  eyes  in  line  with  the 
gun.  The  word  comes  "Fire,"  and  my  eyes 
catch  the  great  shell  as  it  goes  screaming 
into  the  sky  on  its  errand  of  duty  and  destruc- 
tion. For  an  instant  far  into  the  distance  we 
follow  its  flight. 

All  around  us  the  great  guns  are  barking 
and  moaning — surely  nothing  could  be  so  ter- 
rible. But  stop  a  moment —  This  is  not 
battle.  It  is  only  reciprocal  gunfire — getting 
the  range — setting  the  stage  for  tomorrow 
morning — for  "Zero." 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  LONELY  ROAD  TO  ZERO 

Tomorrow  morning  is  Zero,  the  hour  or 
time  set  for  going  over  the  top. 

Never  have  we  seen  crowds  before.  It  is  a 
great  sea  of  human  Hfe.  The  roads  are  throb- 
bing and  jammed  with  the  surging,  seething 
mass;  thousands  of  men  are  going  in.  The 
motor  lorries  are  going  up  with  suppHes;  the 
gun  carriage  is  loaded  with  food  for  the  big 
guns. 

Men  are  coming  out,  empty  lorries  come 
back,  gun  carriages  return  for  food  for  the 
ever  greedy  guns. 

Little  miniature  railroad  trains  are  hauling 
up  their  loads  of  ammunition  and  supplies. 
All  up  and  down  the  lines  these  little  narrow 
gauge  railroad  lines  feed  the  front.  They  are 
quickly  constructed  and  wind  in  and  out 
among  the  shell  holes.  They  remind  you  of 
the  little  railroad  trains  at  Coney  Island  or 
any  amusement  park  back  home.     But  here 

25 


OUT  THERE 

their  mission  is  one  of  duty  and  not  of  pleas- 
ure. 

Everything  is  centered  on  the  most  im- 
portant factor  in  war — the  lad  in  the  front 
line  trench.  He  must  be  well  fed  and  kept 
with  an  abundance  of  supplies  and  ammuni- 
tion. 

In  the  fields,  thousands  of  men  are  in  line, 
getting  final  words  of  counsel  from  the  young 
officers  before  they  begin  the  march  that  leads 
to  Gethsemane. 

We  go  from  building  to  building,  cellar  to 
cellar,  dugout  to  dugout.  Everywhere  are 
men.  We  go  down  one  of  the  most  famous 
roads  of  the  war — the  road  to  Ypres.  Again 
the  crowds.  We  come  to  Hell's  Crossing, 
where  thousands  come  and  go,  and  where  hun- 
dreds have  "gone  west."  It  is  on  the  rail- 
road stations,  crossroads  and  moving  troops 
that  Fritz  tries  to  train  his  guns. 

The  traffic  is  regulated  by  traffic  "cops" 
who  stand  under  the  rain  of  shells.  Never 
have  we  seen  the  traffic  better  regulated  on 
any  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  than 
it  is  out  in  France  on  the  crossroads  within 

26 


THE  LONELY  ROAD  TO  ZERO 

the  line.  Even  over  here  traffic  cops  display- 
great  personal  bravery.  They  stand  unpro- 
tected in  the  center  of  the  road.  Fritz  is  try- 
ing his  best  to  drop  his  shells  on  their  heads. 
In  one  section  thirty-five  men  won  decorations 
at  this  work. 

All  day  before  the  battle,  not  a  single  man 
smiles.  No  one  whistles.  There  is  subdued 
talking.  No  laughing,  no  cheering,  no  sing- 
ing, no  bands  playing.  The  only  band  we 
heard  all  day  was  a  band  in  the  center  of  a 
great  group  of  men  lined  up,  who  were  soon 
to  start  in.     It  was  playing  a  hymn. 

Men  who  have  written  their  last  home  let- 
ters, drawn  up  their  last  will  in  their  pay 
books,  and  broken  their  home  ties,  are  not 
going  into  the  lines  smiling  and  laughing. 
Their  loved  ones,  to  whom  they  have  said 
goodbye,  mean  just  as  much  to  them  as  any 
of  our  loved  ones  over  here.  We  do  not 
smile  in  the  presence  of  death.  Why  should 
they  over  there? 

As  Harry  Lauder  says:  "You  know,  you 
do  not  need  to  talk  to  the  laddies  who  are  go- 
ing to  go  'over  the  top'  about  God.    They  are 

27 


OUT  THERE 

thinking  about  God  and  about  home."  And 
they  are. 

We  look  at  them.  Their  faces  look  as  if 
cut  out  of  the  stone  of  the  hills.  The  most 
lonesome  road  any  man  ever  trod  is  the  road 
that  man  takes  who  goes  down  the  road 
into  the  trench  to  go  "over  the  top." 

That  is  the  most  lonesome  road  outside  the 
path  Christ  took  when  He  went  into  the  Gar- 
den of  Gethsemane.  You  can  almost  imag- 
ine that  they  are  saying:  "If  possible,  let 
this  cup  pass,  but — not  my  will,  Thy  will  be 
done." 

The  only  words  I  have  ever  found  to  de- 
scribe it  are  Mansfield's:  "They  go  up  Hke 
Kings  in  a  Pageant  to  the  imminent  death." 

Kings!  every  man  a  King. 

We  are  walking  over  ground  where  every 
yard  has  been  liit  by  shells,  and  churned  and 
re-churned.  Every  foot  has  been  soaked  and 
made  sacred  by  British  blood.  The  shrapnel 
burst,  the  great  shells  buzz  and  scream,  but 
on  they  go.  Among  the  tens  of  thousands 
of  transfigured  faces,  not  a  single  one  would 
have  turned  back.     Up  the  road  they  are  go- 

28 


THE  LONELY  ROAD  TO  ZERO 

ing,  into  that  Garden  of  Gethsemane.  Into 
the  garden  of  awful  suspense  and  anxiety. 

There  to  wait  quietly  in  the  presence  of 
death  until  the  moment  that  they  are  called 
on  to  go  "over  the  top" — on  to  the  cross! 
They  are  facing  eternity.  Looming  up  be- 
fore them  is  the  memory  of  life  with  all  its 
joys.  Before  them  possible  death  or  terrible 
wounds,  but  certain  victory  over  material 
things. 

Back  in  America,  some  tell  me  the  men 
out  there  are  not  interested  in  religion.  They 
may  not  be  interested  in  the  kind  some  people 
think  about.  They  are  not  particularly  in- 
terested in  Hell.  They  know  more  about  it 
than  Dante  ever  dreamed  of  writing. 

They  have  been  through  Hell,  so  they  are 
not  interested  in  it.  But  they  are  mightily 
interested  in  God.  I  have  never  spoken  the 
name  of  Christ  out  there,  that  a  great  silence 
did  not  come  over  the  audience. 

Lying  in  the  edge  of  one  of  the  great 
craters,  we  watch  Fritz's  line.  Down  there 
it  is!  No,  not  what  we  had  expected,  for  all 
we  can  see  is  a  great  desert  of  destruction 

29 


OUT  THERE 

and  devastation.  No  life  of  any  sort.  Only 
the  British  shells  bursting  there  tell  us  that  is 
Fritz's  line. 

The  planes  are  flying  in  the  air  overhead. 
The  guns  behind  us  are  sending  over  their 
message  of  death. 

The  men  are  going  by.  If  they  are  Aus- 
tralians every  man  of  them  that  goes  by  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  dugout  is  handed  an  extra  large 
piece  of  chocolate.  No!  He  is  not  to  eat  it, 
not  unless  he  falls  wounded  in  "No  Man's 
Land"  and  cannot  crawl  back.  Then  he  can 
eat  it,  and  then  only.  As  they  go  by  there, 
the  last  human  touch  they  are  having  with  the 
outside  world  is  a  cup  of  tea  or  a  bit  of  to- 
bacco, or  a  piece  of  chocolate  in  a  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
dugout. 

We  remember  one  Canadian  regiment  that 
had  gone  past  a  dugout  similar  to  this,  all 
getting  cups  of  tea.  The  next  morning  "over 
the  top!"  Seventy  only  came  out  whole.  A 
cup  of  hot  tea  or  a  smoke  means  more  to  your 
boy  out  there  than  a  garage  full  of  cars  wait- 
ing for  him  back  home. 

We  spend  the  evening  in  the  huts  and  dug- 
30 


Cellar  on  the  Ypres  Salient 


Interior  of  the  ('ellar 
A  Rare  Treat — A  Fireplace  at  the  Front 


THE  LONELY  ROAD  TO  ZERO 

outs.  The  atmosphere  is  tense.  Everyone  is 
quiet  and  talking  only  in  a  low  voice.  All 
know  tomorrow  is  "Zero."  While  little  is  be- 
ing said  about  tomorrow  morning,  all  are 
thinking  about  it.  The  men  here  will  not 
be  going  "over  the  top,"  but  their  pals  up  the 
lines  will,  and  that  hurts  almost  more  than  if 
they  themselves  were  going  over.  The  com- 
panionship at  the  front  is  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  things  that  the  war  has  brought 
out. 

The  giving  of  one's  life  for  another  is  no 
mere  recital  of  words.  Sacrifice  is  common- 
place among  these  men  who  are  constantly 
offering  their  lives  for  home  and  country. 

As  we  go  out  into  the  open  we  find  the 
night  one  of  the  darkest  and  wettest  of  the 
whole  summer.  The  ground  under  foot  is 
slippery  and  muddy.  A  heavy  fog  is  hang- 
ing over  the  lines  as  if  to  hide  the  tragedy 
that  is  soon  to  take  place. 

Around  ten  o'clock  the  great  Hell  Gates 
burst  open.  There  comes  forth  a  mighty 
rushing,  charging  sound  as  of  an  awful  thun- 
der and  wind  storm.     The  heavens  are  lit  with 


OUT  THERE 

the  flash  of  thousands  of  guns.  The  earth  is 
shaking  and  trembling.  Imagine  the  most  ter- 
rific thunderclap  you  ever  heard  multiplied  by- 
eight  long  hours! 

The  Barrage  is  on! 

The  shells  are  rauiing  all  over  the  German 
lines,  tearing  up  front  line  trenches  and  barb 
wire  entanglements,  destroying  back  roads 
and  avenues  of  approach.  Places  where 
troops  are  assembled  are  being  covered  as  by 
hail.  The  batteries  are  being  so  completely 
"strafed"  that  they  seem  to  waver  and  hesi- 
tate, dazed  and  unable  to  reply.  Thousands 
of  British  shells  are  going  over  while  only 
hundreds  are  coming  back.  Fritz  is  now  get- 
ting what  he  gave  in  1914,  only  he  is  now 
being  repaid  with  compound  interest. 

The  roads  back  of  the  British  Front  are 
deserted.  Only  the  staff  cars  going  and  com- 
ing. The  troops  are  in  the  trenches  all  ready 
and  waiting  for  "Zero." 

All  is  set,  the  curtain  is  ready  to  go  up. 

At  four  o'clock  we  rush  down  the  deserted 
road  by  motor  car  and  go  on  to  the  hillside 
overlooking   the    great   Ypres    salient.     The 

34 


THE  LONELY  ROAD  TO  ZERO 

staff  officers  are  here,  all  silent  and  tense.  We 
are  now  looking  upon  one  of  the  most  colossal 
dramas  ever  staged  and  executed  in  the  his- 
tory of  mankind — every  actor  a  small  pawn 
in  the  pageant  of  destruction  and  death. 

No  longer  is  it  "Fire  Number  One,"  'Tire 
Number  Two,"  but  all  around  us  thousands 
of  great  hounds  of  hell  are  barking  and  howl- 
ing as  they  send  their  messages  of  destruction 
and  death  into  the  German  lines. 

A  million  men  are  in  the  trenches  and  in 
the  line  of  reserves,  ready  to  make  the  great 
push  into  Flanders.  Every  single  individual 
among  the  milUon  must  "go  over"  alone. 
The  heavens  are  red.  There  is  no  talking. 
The  noise  is  terrific.  The  "Very  lights'*  are 
going  up.  The  "star"  shells  are  bursting. 
Occasionally  a  great  German  shell  bursts 
near  by,  and  comes  roaring  out  above  the 
awful  sounds  to  which  we  are  listening. 

Five  o'clock — We  sit  down  in  the  mud  and 
cover  our  faces  as  the  rain  commences.  We 
realize  that  this  will  increase  the  horrors  of 
going  over  the  top. 

Yes,  they  went  over  at  Vimy  Ridge  in 
35 


OUT  THERE 

April  on  a  fine  clear  morning  when  the  sun 
was  shining,  and  in  the  afternoon  the  snow 
came  on.  As  the  "waves"  of  men  went  over 
day  after  day  at  Vimy,  I  am  told  that  pos- 
sibly as  many  men  died  from  drowning  in 
shell  holes  as  died  from  the  bullets. 

Did  you  get  it?  The  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands of  shells  falhng  and  the  rain  coming 
down  and  the  muck  forming!  Why  don't 
they  go  forward  more?  Because  they  can 
go  only  as  far  as  they  are  able  to  cover  the 
advance  with  their  own  guns. 

Five-thirty  comes.  We  know  that  they  are 
thinking  of  the  home  folks.  It  is  my  little 
daughter's  birthday.  All  of  them  have  loved 
ones  at  home  who  mean  as  much  to  them  as 
mine  do  to  me.     But  they  must  carry  on. 

Shortly  before  six  o'clock  the  barrage  be- 
comes even  more  intense  as  the  grand  climax 
approaches. 

Six  o'clock — dead  silence — all  the  guns  stop 
firing. 

Now  only  the  occasional  bursting  of  a  Ger- 
man shell,  while  over  all  hangs  a  deathlike 
silence.     But  over  the  top  they  go  into  the 

36 


THE  LONELY  ROAD  TO  ZERO 

mouth  of  HelL  For  now  the  hand-to-hand 
fight  is  on  as  Tommy  dashes  forward  to  drive 
the  Germans  that  are  left  out  of  their  holes. 

As  he  springs  to  the  top  of  the  parapet 
and  charges  across  "No  Man's  Land,"  he 
must  face  mustard  gas  that  is  odorless  and 
invisible  and  may  not  show  its  effects  for  many 
hours.  But  at  last  it  will  get  in  its  deadly  work 
of  burning  and  searing  his  body  wherever  his 
body  is  wet  from  perspiration  or  rain.  He 
faces  tear  gas  that  blinds  him,  gas  that  suf- 
focates and  chokes  him  unless  he  immediately 
gets  on  his  gas  mask.  He  goes  into  the  for- 
est of  barb  wire  over  ground  that  is  mined, 
under  the  "woolly  bear"  shrapnel.  He  charges 
machine  guns  that  mow  as  the  scythe  mows 
the  grain.  He  faces  hand  bombs,  hquid  fire 
and  cold  steel  bayonets. 

Tell  me  of  a  Hell  which  equals  that! 


CHAPTER   III 


'the  path  of  the  walking  wounded" 


The  guns  are  now  roaring.  Shells  are 
screaming  and  bursting,  the  bullets  whizzing 
and  whining,  the  planes  buzzing  overhead. 
Men  are  going  up  in  endless  streams.  The 
counter  attack  is  on. 

The  moment  they  go  "over  the  top,"  those 
who  reach  the  German  trench  at  once  clear 
the  trench  of  the  men  that  have  survived 
the  barrage.  They  immediately  begin  to  en- 
trench themselves  as  the  waves  of  their  own 
troops  keep  coming  over  behind  them,  rush  up 
to  them  or  help  to  dig  themselves  in,  for  as 
soon  as  they  go  over  the  top,  Fritz  begins 
his  barrage  on  these  advancing  men.  Also 
he  has  turned  on  his  barrage  to  prevent  the 
reinforcements  from  being  brought  up.  This 
is  called  the  counter  attack. 

Day  after  day  many  times  into  weeks  and 
months  the  battle  rages  backward  and  for- 
ward, wave  after  wave  of  men  going  over, 

38 


"THE  WALKING  WOUNDED" 

counter  attack  after  counter  attack  being^ 
staged. 

But  we  forget  all  else  save  the  human  cost 
as  our  eyes  rest  on  the  suffering,  bleeding  men 
that  are  coming  down  the  path  of  the  "Walk- 
ing Wounded."  The  day  before,  lying  in  a 
shell  hole,  I  had  seen  the  engineers  putting 
in  two  rows  of  white  posts.  Turning  to 
Harry  Holmes  I  asked  him,  "What  are  they 
putting  those  in  for?"  "For  the  walking 
wounded  tomorrow  morning,"  was  his  reply. 

"You  know  many  days  ago  I  was  sent  for 
by  the  General  Director  of  Medical  Service 
and  asked  if  I  could  get  ready,  as  Zero  would 
be  this  morning."  Asking  a  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
secretary  if  he  could  get  ready  for  a  battle? 
Yes,  and  before  you  have  ceased  reading  this 
chapter  you  will  understand  why. 

We  are  now  in  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  dugout,  in 
the  edge  of  that  hell,  watching  the  staggering, 
creeping,  weaving  line  of  men  who  have  gone 
"over  the  top"  only  a  short  time  before  and 
have  stopped  a  piece  of  shell,  machine  gun 
bullet,  shrapnel,  or  what  not.  Now  they  are 
coming  down  the  path  of  the  white  posts  th*»t 

39 


OUT  THERE 

guides  them  back  to  the  dressing  station, 
which  is  now  flooded  with  the  men  who  have 
done  their  bit.  The  minute  a  man  is  wounded 
and  out,  if  possible  he  starts  back  on  his  pain- 
ful journey  to  relief  and  help.  Of  course 
there  are  large  numbers  who  cannot  walk, 
who  are  down  and  out,  and  it  is  these  men 
who  are  being  carried  back  by  the  brave 
stretcher  bearers.  They  keep  going  "over  the 
top"  until  at  last  they  become  a  part  of  the 
procession  of  suffering,  bleeding  men  who  are 
coming  down  the  path  which  is  only  traveled 
by  men  who  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  eternity, 
who  have  faced  death  in  "No  Man's  Land." 

Down  the  path  of  the  white  posts  they  are 
coming,  covered  with  muck,  mire  and  filth, 
eyes  dimmed  with  their  own  blood,  arms  shat- 
tered, bodies  mangled,  and  with  wounds  which 
have  not  yet  ever  been  dressed. 

They  are  coming  hack.  Their  kilts  are 
torn  off;  their  trousers  are  torn  off;  their  coats 
are  absolutely  soaked  with  muck  and  mire. 
They  are  dripping  with  their  own  blood. 
They  have  gone  down  under  the  machine  gun 
fire;    they    are    shot    to    pieces.     Chins    are 

40 


The  Walking  Wounded 


A  Touch  of  Home  on  the  Borders  of  No  Man's  Land 


"THE  WALKING  WOUNDED" 

wounded,  noses  are  bleeding  and  eyes  gone. 
There  is  not  a  place  you  can  touch  on  the  face 
of  many  of  them  which  is  not  caked  with 
mud  and  blood. 

You  say  these  men  who  are  so  badly 
wounded  cannot  walk?  No,  they  can't  walk, 
but  they  do!  In  many  cases  it  is  either  walk 
back  or  die.     So  they  walk  back. 

The  only  thing  over  each  man's  wounds  is 
a  bandage  or  handkerchief  that  he  has  wrap- 
ped around  himself,  or  a  stretcher  bearer  has 
given  him  in  the  way  of  assistance  as  he  starts 
his  painful  journey  back  to  the  dressing  sta- 
tion. 

They  are  coming  back  by  the  hundreds  and 
hundreds.  They  come  straggling  hack.  We 
have  seen  them  a  few  hours  before,  the  cream 
of  the  nation.     They  are  coming  back. 

Moaning  and  groaning?  No!  "Out  there," 
suffering  lips  are  dumb. 

As  they  come,  they  pass  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  dug- 
out. They  cannot  stop.  No,  for  first  they 
must  not  be  allowed  to  sit  down  and  grow 
faint  from  their  wounds.  Second,  the  Ger- 
man eyes  are  still  on  them,  for  up  there  hang 

43 


OUT  THERE 

the  great  black  German  balloons,  with  their 
observers  who  are  alert  and  watchful.  No 
matter  where  they  see  a  group  of  soldiers,  be 
they  men  going  in  or  men  out  of  the  game 
coming  back  with  their  wounds,  congregated 
around  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  dugout,  Fritz  will 
send  over  a  shell,  and  all  will  "go  west." 

As  they  pass  by  the  dugout  the  secretary 
is  there  with  orderlies,  serving  them  hot  tea 
in  old  tin  cans,  which  are  grasped  by  shaking, 
suffering  hands  as  the  men  continue  their 
painful  journey  back,  drinking  their  tea,  puff- 
ing away  at  their  smokes.  They  throw  the 
empty  cans  in  the  shell  hole  farther  down  the 
line.  The  secretary  and  orderlies  are  bring- 
ing back  the  tins,  for  all  day  long  that  stream 
of  men  must  be  given  something  to  drink,  to 
smoke  and  to  eat,  as  back  they  come. 

It  is  strange  how  men  do  not  lose  their 
humor  out  there.  I  remember  one  dugout 
which  was  under  the  eyes  of  the  German  bal- 
loons. On  one  side  of  the  dugout  is  a  very 
pathetic  yet  humorous  sign:  "Men  don't 
loiter  here;  besides,  it  looks  bad." 

We  ask  them,  "How  are  you,  old  chap?" 
44 


"THE  WALKING  WOUNDED" 

*'0h,  all  right,  sir,  I  got  a  blighty  one,"  or 
"It's  not  so  bad,  mister."  You  could  never 
tell  the  true  story,  for  as  you  see  them  com- 
ing out  of  the  lines,  shot  and  bleeding,  you 
remember  Calvary  and  the  Descent  from  the 
Cross. 

We  go  from  dugout  to  dugout;  they  are 
coming  down  the  path  of  the  white  posts. 

We  go  to  the  dressing  station.  Back  here, 
we  picture  a  dressing  station  with  beautiful 
nurses,  white  tables  and  doctors  with  clean 
white  uniforms.  But  we  are  in  a  field  dress- 
ing station,  an  old  barn  out  in  Flanders,  no 
tables,  no  nurses,  only  doctors  rushing  from 
man  to  man,  quickly  looking  at  the  wound  or 
wounds  which  have  been  bared  by  the  order- 
lies. Quickly  diagnosing  the  case  they  rush 
up  to  the  next  man,  for  all  around  the  room 
the  wounded  are  sitting  on  boxes,  on  benches 
— a  quiet  orderly  bunch  of  men  who  are  suf- 
fering the  tortures  of  death  with  dumb  lips 
and  heroic  attempts  at  cheerfulness. 

Outside  the  dressing  station,  they  are  wait- 
ing by  the  hundreds  to  get  in. 

But,  thank  God,  outside  those  dressing  sta- 
45 


OUT  THERE 

tions  are  great  big  tents,  Y.  M.  C.  A.  temples 
of  love,  crowded  and  jammed  with  the  walk- 
ing wounded.  For  every  man  that  comes 
out  of  the  line  is  given  something  to  drink,  to 
eat  and  to  smoke  in  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent  be- 
fore his  wounds  are  dressed. 

As  we  crowd  through  those  mangled,  suf- 
fering men  they  all  try  to  smile  as  we  hand 
them  the  cup  of  tea  or  the  bowl  of  soup.  We 
stand  by  the  lad  whose  hands  are  shot  away, 
and  put  the  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  and  light 
it  for  him.  Yes,  he  smiles  through  the  mud 
and  blood  on  his  face,  as  he  tries  to  thank  us. 

As  we  go  from  dressing  station  to  dressing 
station  and  see  the  thousands  of  walking 
wounded  being  taken  care  of,  we  realize  why 
the  officer  has  asked  Holmes  if  he  could  get 
ready  for  Zero.  We  stand  in  one  dressing 
station,  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent,  helping  to  minis- 
ter to  the  men.  As  we  look  down  the  hne, 
we  can  no  longer  keep  back  the  tears. 

There  a  Tommie  comes,  trousers  torn  off, 
puttees  gone,  coat  soaked  with  his  own  blood, 
staggering  in,  for  his  legs  are  bleeding;  but 
in  his  own  pain  he  has  not  forgotten  his  chum, 

46 


/ 

"THE  WALKING  WOUNDED" 

his  pal,  his  friend,  for  he  is  bringing  him  on 
his  back.  They  both  see  us  with  the  tears  in 
our  eyes  and  they  try  to  smile  back.  Truly 
they  are  coming  back  to  us,  more  than  con- 
querors. 

We  go  to  the  door  of  that  old  dressing  sta- 
tion. The  Colonel  (the  doctor)  rushes  out. 
He  cannot  shake  hands  for  he  is  working 
and  his  hands  are  fairly  dripping  with  blood. 
But  with  great  emotion  he  looks  at  the  crowd, 
jammed  and  packed  in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent, 
hundreds  waiting  outside. 

"Look  at  them,  look  at  them.  How  under 
heaven  could  we  get  along  without  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.?" 

For  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  has  gone  in  to  serve. 
The  American  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  rushing  night 
and  day  to  get  ready  for  the  time  when  the 
Yankees  will  take  over  a  section  of  the  line. 
During  the  battle,  and  after  the  battle,  all 
food  and  so  forth  is  given  away — thousands 
of  cups  of  tea,  hundreds  of  cases  of  biscuit, 
loads  of  smokes.  For  it  is  during  these  try- 
ing times  that  the  men  need  human  ministry 
more  than  at  any  other  time. 

47 


OUT  THERE 

It  is  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  that  will  give  your 
boy  the  hearty  "Goodbye,  God  bless  you"  as 
he  "Goes  in."  And  it  is  its  hand  that  will 
reach  out  to  grasp  his  shaking,  tottering  form 
and  help  him  down  the  hill  that  leads  from 
the  Cross. 

I  have  often  wondered  at  the  great  love 
and  sympathy  that  seems  to  exist  between  the 
British  officer  and  his  men.  I  had  seen  it  in 
India  before  the  war.  I  have  seen  it  in  all 
parts  of  the  British  Empire.  I  know  the  rea- 
son now.  I  have  yet  to  see  a  single  British 
officer,  be  he  major  or  captain,  among  the 
walking  wounded  who  goes  ahead  of  his  men 
to  have  his  wounds  dressed.  He  takes  his 
place  in  the  line  with  his  men,  and  he  waits 
there  for  hours,  if  need  be,  before  his  wounds 
are  dressed. 

Outside  one  dressing  station  there  sat  a 
young  Colonel  with  a  very  bad  wound.  One 
of  the  Secretaries  noticed  him  and  said: 

"You  better  get  in  to  the  dressing  station 
at  once." 

"No,  it  is  not  my  turn.  I  will  not  go  out 
of  my  turn." 

48 


«*THE  WALKING  WOUNDED" 

Some  four  hours  after,  the  Secretary  pass- 
ing out  food  and  drink,  again  noticed  the 
Colonel. 

"Here,  why  have  you  not  had  your  wounds 
dressed?" 

"I  am  waiting  my  turn." 

"But  it  was  your  turn  long  ago." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Of  course  I  am,  come  on  let  me  help  you," 

Into  the  dressing  room  he  staggered.  No 
thought  had  entered  his  mind  that  he  had 
done  a  heroic  act. 

I  discovered  one  strange  fact  that  morning. 
Every  man  that  goes  into  the  trench  and  over 
the  parapet  into  "No  Man's  Land"  is  a 
souvenir  hunter.  If  you  could  see  them  com- 
ing back,  shot  to  pieces,  you  would  decide  that 
these  men  could  have  no  thought  of  collect- 
ing souvenirs.  But  hold  on!  Look  into  their 
pockets. 

In  one  tent  a  large  number  of  German 
prisoners  were  being  brought  in.  All  of  their 
helmets,  knives  and  the  like  were  being  taken 
from  them.  The  young  officer  in  charge  in- 
sisted that  I  take  a  helmet,  knife,  gas  mask 

49 


OUT  THERE 

or  something  to  show  when  I  returned  to  the 
States. 

One  young  Scotch  lad  hearing  the  conver- 
sation motioned  me  over  and  said: 

"Here  is  something  better." 

He  held  out  a  German  hand  bomb. 

"No,  no,  thank  you  very  much,  I  won't  take 
it." 

"That's  all  right.  Take  it  along,  I  don't 
care." 

"But  it  may  be  loaded." 

"Oh  wait,  I'll  see,"  and  he  dehberately 
started  to  see  if  it  was  loaded. 

''Hold  on.  You  can't  give  me  that  bomb 
whether  it  is  loaded  or  not." 

It  goes  without  saying  the  performance  was 
growing  far  too  interesting  to  suit  me. 

As  I  stand  by  him  I  see  his  leg  is  bleeding 
and  I  speak  of  it. 

"Yes,  he  got  me  in  the  leg,  but  I  got  him  in 
the  guts.     But  I  want  you  to  see  what  I  got." 

And  he  pulled  it  out  and  unwrapped  it,  a 
German  officer's  Iron  Cross,  1914,  and  then 
he  went  to  his  other  pocket  and  he  said: 

"And  look  at  this." 
50 


"THE  WALKING  WOUNDED" 

He  had  the  officer's  keys  and  his  compass 
and  his  watch.  Then  he  went  back  and  he 
said: 

"This  is  the  best  of  all." 

And  he  pulled  out  an  automatic  revolver. 
He  looked  like  the  British  Museum. 

Practically  every  fellow  that  comes  back, 
though  he  may  be  barely  able  to  crawl,  has 
something  in  his  pockets  or  somewhere  on  him 
to  show  he  was  in  it.  All  I  have  to  say  is 
that,  he  is  entitled  to  all  the  souvenirs  he  can 
lug  back. 

It  is  hard  to  try  and  tell  the  story  of  the 
men  "out  there,"  for  it  cannot  be  told  without 
telling  the  story  of  the  human  cost.  Shortly 
after  I  returned,  I  was  the  guest  of  the  Gov- 
ernor of  one  of  the  Western  States,  who,  in 
the  course  of  the  evening,  told  me  how  14,000 
had  gone  from  his  State  to  join  the  colors. 

And  I  stopped  and  thought  that  that  State 
had  not  sent  enough  men  to  feed  the  big  guns 
that  the  British  alone  are  facing  for  two 
weeks.  For  the  smallest  number  of  casualties 
in  any  month  since  August,  1914,  was  thirty 
thousand.     That  morning  outside  one  dress- 

51 


OUT  THERE 

ing  station,  three  hours  after  the  battle,  hun- 
dreds of  men  were  waiting  to  have  their 
wounds  dressed.  They  are  coming  out,  coming 
out,  of  battles  which  last  for  months,  not  days. 

The  least  we  can  do  back  here  is  to  give 
our  money.  In  fact,  before  this  war  is  over 
many  of  our  fmest  American  men  and  women, 
who  cannot  render  military  service,  will  find 
themselves  out  in  France  in  a  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
hut  or  dugout,  handing  out  the  piece  of  choco- 
late or  the  cup  of  tea. 

Not  long  ago  I  sat  in  the  office  of  one  of 
the  biggest  banking  institutions  in  America 
and  one  of  the  heads  of  that  concern  said : 

"Do  you  think  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  would  give 
me  a  chance  to  work  in  one  of  those  dugouts 
or  huts  'out  there.'  " 

"Of  course  they  will." 

He  is  out  there  today. 

The  time  has  come  when  there  is  not  a  busi- 
ness man  in  America — there  is  not  a  lawyer,  a 
professional  man,  or  a  society  woman  that  is 
too  good  to  help  carry  the  old  kit  bag  of  the 
boy  that  has  gone  over  the  top,  to  fight  our 
battles. 

52 


CHAPTER   IV 


"the  world  upside  down" 


There's  a  zone, 

Wild  and  lone, 

None  claim,  none  own. 
That  goes  by  the  name  of  "No  Man's  Land." 
Its  frontiers  are  bastioned,   and  wired   and  mined. 
The  rank  grass  shudders  and  shakes  in  the  wind, 
And  never  a  roof  nor  a  tree  you  find 

In  No  Man's  Land. 

They  that  gave 

Lives  so  brave 

Have  found  a  grave 
In  the  haggard  fields  of  No  Man's  Land. 
By  the  foeman's  reddened  parapet 
They  lie  with  never  a  headstone  set. 
But  their  dauntless  souls  march  forward  yet 

In  No  Man's  Land. 
H.  D'A.  B.,  Majok,  55  Division,  B.  E.  F.,  France. 

No  Man's  Land  is  that  small  tract  of  land 
that  lies  between  the  opposing  trenches. 

On  the  great  Western  front  it  reaches 
from  the  Alps  to  the  sea.  At  some  places,  in 
width  it  may  be  several  hundred  yards — at 

53 


OUT  THERE 

other  places  only  a  few  short  yards.  But  it 
is  over  No  Man's  Land  that  the  great  world 
struggle  is  being  fought  out.  It  is  there  the 
death  grapple  of  the  nations  is  in  progress. 
Back  and  forth  across  No  Man's  Land  are 
struggling  not  armies,  but  the  men  and  boys 
of  the  nations.  For  in  this  war  it  is  not  a 
question  of  armies.  The  men  of  the  nations 
are  under  arms. 

Those  who  enter  this  zone  find  themselves 
in  a  different  world — a  world  apart,  a  world 
different  and  unUke  anything  they  have  ever 
known  before. 

In  the  world  from  which  they  have  come 
men  live  to  build  and  construct  material 
things  of  permanent  value.  Here  men  die  in 
their  effort  to  destroy,  and  all  they  build,  they 
build  expecting  it  to  be  destroyed. 

I  shall  never  forget  when  I  first  approached 
the  edge  of  that  zone  called  No  Man's  Land. 
We  had  pushed  our  car  all  day,  hoping  to 
reach  headquarters  before  nightfall,  but  dark- 
ness found  us  many  miles  away.  As  the 
darkness  deepened,  we  seemed  to  be  running 
into  a  very  bad  storm,  for  the  lightning  be- 

54 


"THE  WORLD  UPSIDE  DOWN" 

came  more  vivid  and  the  thunder  much 
deeper.  All  at  once  it  came  over  us  that  it 
was  not  a  thunder  storm,  but  the  front  in  its 
awful  reahty  that  was  looming  up  before  us. 

We  were  stopped  frequently  by  the  sen- 
tinels along  the  way,  who  asked  for  our 
passes.  After  a  moment  on  we  went  with 
a  merry  good-night.  As  we  rolled  through 
the  villages  the  sentinels  were  constantly  call- 
ing out  "Douse  your  dims."  When  we  came 
to  Hazlebrouck  we  turned  on  the  lights  of 
our  car,  for  we  had  missed  the  road.  Imme- 
diately a  sentinel  called  out:  "Dim  your 
lights — Fritz  has  been  throwing  'em  over  here 
tonight." 

He  put  us  on  the  right  road,  and  late 
at  night  we  arrived  at  headquarters,  and 
found  a  warm  supper  awaiting  us.  Inside 
headquarters,  with  the  bright  lights  and  the 
good  food  before  us,  we  almost  forgot  that 
we  were  at  the  front,  as  we  greeted  old 
friends  whom  we  had  not  seen  for  years. 
When  the  conversation  lagged  a  peculiar  hiss- 
ing sound  caught  my  ear,  and,  upon  being 
informed  that  "Fritz  is  sending  over  a  few,'* 

55 


OUT  THERE 

the  pleasure  of  the  supper  lost  many  of  its 
attractions. 

These  men,  who  have  been  on  the  front 
for  weeks,  are  bubbling  over  with  questions. 
They  ask  what  is  going  on  outside,  but  our 
minds  are  not  centered  on  the  conversation. 
Instead,  we  are  wondering  how  high  up  the 
sheUs  are,  and  also  questioning  if  Fritz  is  not 
likely  to  drop  one  nearby. 

Going  up  and  down  the  lines,  we  begin  to 
get  a  faint  idea  of  this  strange  and  mys- 
terious world  that  we  are  now  in.  We  go 
through  villages,  only  villages  by  name  now, 
because  they  have  been  leveled  to  the  ground. 
We  are  always  among  men. 

We  come  to  great  ammunition  dumps 
within  the  hnes,  but  far  enough  away  to  be 
out  from  under  the  eye  of  the  German 
baUoons  and  scouting  planes.  Here  are  great 
mountains  of  munitions,  hundreds  of  yards 
long,  fifteen  to  twenty  feet  high,  all  camou- 
flaged— tons  and  tons  of  munitions  ready  for 
the  thousands  of  big  hungiy  guns  a  little 
farther  up  the  lines.  Then  by  the  great  guns 
we  find  hundreds  of  shells.     For  now  Fritz 

56 


"THE  WORLD  UPSIDE  DOWN" 

is  getting  back  his  own  medicine.  Millions 
of  tons  of  ammunition  are  required. 

No  one  who  has  really  gone  up  and  down 
the  British  lines  can  ever  question,  "^^Tiat  is 
'Britain  doing?"  For  there  he  comes  to  know 
that  facing  the  British  are  three  to  four  Ger- 
mans to  every  yard  of  trench,  while  on  the 
French  front  there  is  one  German  to  every 
yard  of  trench.  France  is  holding  a  great 
length  of  trenches,  but  probably  not  keeping 
occupied  a  large  number  of  German  troops. 
Truly  that  land  is  a  hungry  and  greedy  land 
which  has  called  forth  an  almost  superhuman 
effort  from  Great  Britain,  as  well  as  the 
other  Allies,  especially  Great  Britain,  when 
we  realize  the  unprepared  condition  she  was 
in  at  the  beginning.  But  we  can  grasp  in 
just  a  small  way  what  she  has  had  to  do 
when  we  glance  at  Mr.  Lloyd  George's  state- 
ment in  "Parliament's  Vote  of  Thanks  to  the 
Forces,"  under  date  of  October  29,  1917. 

"Thirteen  million  men  have  crossed  and 
recrossed  the  seas,  two  million  horses,  twenty- 
five  million  tons  of  explosives  and  supphes, 
fifty-one  million  tons  of  coal  and  oil  fuel  for 

57 


OUT  THERE 

the  use  of  our  Fleet  and  our  Armies  and  to 
meet  the  needs  of  our  Allies.  And  the  losses 
in  men  out  of  the  whole  of  the  thirteen 
million  during  these  years  of  war  have  only 
been  three  thousand  five  hundred — two  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  of  these  alone  through 
the  action  of  the  enemy,  and  the  remainder 
through  the  ordinary  perils  of  the  sea — this 
apart  from  the  prodigious  quantity  of  food 
and  other  materials,  amounting  in  all  to  one 
hundred  and  thirty  million  tons,  transported 
in  British  ships.  This  indeed  has  been  a 
^eat  triumph  for  the  great  Navy." 

We  realize  that  we  are  in  a  world  that  is 
upside  down.  For  here  men  live  only  to  kiU 
and  be  killed. 

Going  up  and  down  the  lines,  it  comes 
over  us  that  war  at  the  front  is  waste,  waste, 
waste.  The  waste  of  munition,  the  waste  of 
property,  the  waste  of  guns,  the  waste  of  all 
material  things,  and  worst  of  all  the  waste 
of  human  life. 

This  is  what  Germany  has  brought  upon 
us.  This  is  what  we  hold  most  against  her. 
She  has  forced  us  into  war.     She  has  forced 

58 


"THE  WORLD  UPSmE  DOWN" 

US  to  send  forth  our  lads  to  kill  and  be  killed. 
For  here  is  an  enemy  that  kills  whether  we 
fight  back  or  don't  fight  back.  No  pacifist 
could  long  remain  a  pacifist  who  goes  out  to 
the  front  and  realizes  that  we  are  facing  an 
enemy  who  by  her  cruel  system  destroys 
homes,  burns  villages,  wrecks  churches  and 
cathedrals,  slaughters  and  starves  innocent 
children,  and  in  a  wholesale  way  destroys  the 
virtue  of  women.  An  enemy  who  sees  no 
law  but  the  law  of  "might  is  right." 

May  God  forgive  those  well-meaning  peo- 
pie  in  our  country  who  even  yet  are  saying, 
"Well,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  send  our 
boys  overseas  to  fight  France's  battle  or  Brit- 
ain's battle."  I  say  forgive,  for  no  true 
American  can  take  such  a  stand  if  he  but 
once  could  see  for  himself  what  has  happened 
in  Northern  France  and  Flanders.  He  is 
either  selfish  and  thinks  only  of  himself  and 
his  family,  or  is  coming  dangerously  near 
playing  into  the  hands  of  our  enemy.  Of 
course,  Germany  would  like  America  to  take 
that  stand.  But  the  men  from  far  distant 
Australia  and  New  Zealand,  Canada,  Britain,, 

59 


OUT  THERE 

India  and  our  own  country,  who  have  gone 
to  the  front,  have  come  to  reaKze  that  it  is 
not  the  battle  of  the  women  and  children  of 
France  we  are  fighting.  No,  we  are  fight- 
ing for  the  women  and  children  of  the  world, 
and  working  toward  that  common  end  of 
"making  the  world  safe  for  democracy." 

Crossing  the  street  in  a  tiny  village  in 
Flanders  one  rainy  morning  I  stopped  to 
watch  the  httle  kiddies  who  were  wading  and 
playing  in  the  pools  of  water  in  the  road. 
Whiz-z-z-z-z-z — boom,  a  great  shell  lands  in 
a  house  some  two  hundred  yards  up  the 
street.  As  the  debris  and  pieces  of  shell  fly 
into  the  air  the  little  kiddies  scamper  for  the 
cover  of  their  cellars  like  frightened  rabbits. 
I  stand  horrified  as  I  think,  "What  if  my 
little  ones  were  hving  out  here  instead  of 
back  in  America?  Would  I  consider  them 
worth  fighting  for?"  Oh!  you  who  wonder 
at  times  if  your  boy  should  be  sent  out  there! 
Suppose  your  little  three-year-old  child  had 
never  spent  an  hour  of  its  Hfe  away  from  the 
roar  of  the  cannon  or  bursting  shells!  We 
are  facing  an  enemy  who  respects  no  treaties, 

60 


In  Spite  of  the  Mud,  Slush  and  Boche,  the  Fun  Goes  on 


Where  the  Bullets  Always  Whine 


"THE  WORLD  UPSIDE  DOWN" 

who  does  not  recognize  the  rights  of  the  weak 
and  helpless. 

The  men  on  the  German  side  are  strug- 
ghng  and  dying,  not  for  their  homes  and 
families  but  that  a  military  party  may  gain 
world  supremacy  and  power. 

This  is  quite  apparent  in  the  way  she 
keeps  from  her  own  soldiers  the  facts  regard- 
ing the  war.  I  stood  in  a  tent  of  prisoners, 
before  they  had  even  reached  the  little  prison 
pens  which  are  waiting  for  them.  The  day 
before  I  had  noticed  these  little  stockades 
with  barbed  wire  fences  which  are  made  ready 
before  every  push.  Into  these  little  pens 
are  gathered  the  prisoners  as  rapidly  as  they 
are  brought  in.  From  here  they  are  then 
moved  back  out  of  the  zone  of  the  fighting. 

One  of  the  prisoners  spoke  splendid  Eng- 
lish, as  he  had  lived  in  the  States  before  the 
war.  When  a  British  sergeant  called  to  his 
attention  the  fact  that  we  were  wearing  the 
United  States  uniform,  his  eyes  widened  and 
in  no  fake  surprise  he  said,  "What?  Amer- 
ica in  the  war?"  We  replied,  "Yes,  for  many 
months." 


OUT  THERE 

He  turned  and  told  his  fellow  prisoners 
the  fact,  and  every  man  looked  astonished 
and  surprised.  Think  of  that,  and  America 
had  been  in  the  war  months!  Yet  in  no 
place  can  men  be  further  out  of  touch  with 
the  world  than  in  the  front  line  trenches  if 
their  superior  officers  care  to  keep  them  in 
ignorance.    That  is  Germany's  method. 

The  Allies  are  giving  to  their  soldiers  at 
the  front  all  possible  information  on  the  war 
and  about  the  war.  Thousands  of  copies  out- 
lining what  the  Allies  are  fighting  for  have 
been  distributed  among  the  troops.  More- 
over, I  was  awakened  one  morning  at  the 
front  near  Lens  by  a  small  newspaper  boy 
who  wanted  to  sell  me  a  London  Daily  Mail. 
As  I  unfolded  the  paper  I  heard  the  shells 
bursting  outside.  The  paper  contained, 
among  the  other  news,  a  detailed  account  of 
the  battle  which  I  had  witnessed  two  morn- 
ings before.  All  possible  news  and  informa- 
tion is  given  to  our  Allied  troops.  There  is 
nothing  that  need  be  hidden.  Ours  is  a  just 
cause. 

As  I  went  into  the  German  dugouts  I  was 
64 


"THE  WORLD  UPSIDE  DOWN" 

forced  to  admire  the  way  Fritz  digs  himself 
in.  He  is  a  hmnan  beaver.  His  dugouts  in 
many  cases  are  of  solid  concrete  reenforced 
with  great  railroad  irons.  They  are  built 
with  greater  care  than  those  of  the  British, 
for  it  is  evident  that  Fritz  expects  to  stay 
in  his  dugouts. 

But  not  so  with  the  Tommy.  He  goes 
forward  and  only  digs  himself  in  as  much 
as  is  necessary  for  protection.  This  is  a  most 
remarkable  indication  of  his  optimism  and 
spirit.  He  is  on  his  way  to  Berlin  and  it 
does  not  pay  to  spend  too  long  a  time  in 
making  great  concrete  dugouts,  when  they 
are  only  transient  stopping  places. 

It  is  very  wonderful,  that  spirit  of  noth- 
ing-can-stop-us  that  is  present  everywhere 
on  the  British  front. 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  struggle  it  is  re- 
markable the  way  they  seem  to  be  able  to 
overcome  the  thought  that  they  are  in  the 
presence  of  death.  Going  into  Ypres  the 
morning  after  the  great  push,  I  found  the 
traffic  terrific.  The  "strafing"  was  also  quite 
intense.    Shrapnel  was  being  sent  over  every- 

65 


OUT  THERE 

where.  Glancing  upward,  I  happened  to 
see  a  great  British  captive  balloon  struck  by 
a  great  shell.  At  once  the  two  men  jumped 
from  their  basket  and  started  to  make  their 
descent  by  parachute.  One  landed  in  the 
top  of  a  tree.  As  I  glanced  down  I  noticed 
in  the  field  imder  them  a  number  of  men 
who  were  probably  just  back  out  of  the  line 
playing  a  cricket  game.  I  did  not  see  a 
man  who  looked  up  as  the  tragedy  took  place 
above  them.  Theirs  is  an  everyday  life  and 
death  is  not  the  unforeseen  and  unexpected, 
but  all  in  the  day's  work. 

Another  surprise  I  received  at  the  front  is 
the  fact  that  both  sides  almost  always  know 
what  is  going  on  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lines.  Not  only  do  spies  get  word  back  and 
forth  across  that  barren  land,  but  the  little 
planes  are  going  and  coming.  These  planes 
with  their  cameras  are  constantly  taking  pic- 
tures. Two  hours  after  a  picture  has  been 
taken,  back  at  headquarters  the  film  is  being 
developed.  If  they  find  that  the  opposing 
trenches  are  crowded  with  men,  and  if  big 
guns  are  being  brought  up  into  new  posi- 

66 


"THE  WORLD  UPSIDE  DOWN'* 

tions,  it  is  apparent  that  an  offensive  is  on. 
The  little  planes  by  their  system  of  taking 
pictures  are  acting  as  the  eyes  of  the  army, 
as  weU  as  directing  shellfire,  scouting,  bomb- 
ing the  enemy's  lines,  his  reserves  and  what 
not. 

All  the  work  at  the  front  is  carried  on 
without  apparent  excitement.  I  recall  a 
friend's  telling  me  of  messing  with  one  very 
well-known  General  whom  he  had  known  for 
years.  During  the  meal  the  head  of  the 
Intelligence  Force  was  spreading  out  his  pic- 
tures before  the  General.  As  he  placed  one 
picture  before  him,  he  said: 

"You  will  notice.  General,  by  looking 
closely  at  that  picture,  an  irregularity  in  the 
hedge  fence.  Of  course,  that  might  be  just 
an  ordinary  irregularity,  but  wait  a  moment." 

He  then  placed  another  picture  before  the 
General. 

"You  see  this  is  another  picture  of  the 
same  thing,  but  you  see  in  this  the  fence  is 
quite  regular.  Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
that  irregularity  marks  a  big  gun  that  has 
been  brought  into  position." 

67 


OUT  THERE 

The  General  quietly  studied  the  two  pic- 
tures. Quietly  he  said  to  his  officer,  in  the 
same  sort  of  an  easy  way  he  would  have 
asked  for  a  cup  of  tea: 

**Turn  the  guns  on  it  this  afternoon." 
It  is  a  strange  world,  a  world  where  every- 
thing seems  truly  upside  down.  But  it  is  out 
there  that  the  great  eternal  truths  of  life  and 
death  are  heing  fought  for.  And,  thank 
God,  slowly  but  surely  victory  is  coming. 


CHAPTER   V 

HELPING  TO  CAHRY  THE  OLD  KIT  BAG  AT  THE 
FEONT 

Only  men  who  have  gone  through  the 
strain  and  monotony  of  front  line  work  can 
comprehend  its  effect  on  men's  nerves. 

That  more  of  the  men  who  are  living  in 
that  atmosphere  of  danger,  destruction  and 
death  do  not  go  to  pieces  is  to  be  wondered 
at.  The  roaring  of  the  great  guns,  the 
whistling,  whining  bullets,  the  droning  of 
the  planes,  the  constant  toll  of  human  Hfe — 
all  of  these  things  have  a  depressing  effect, 
which  is  quite  often  expressed  in  the  words: 

"I  am  jolly  well  fed  up  with  it  all." 

It  is  easy  to  see  why,  under  such  condi- 
tions, men  develop  a  certain  species  of  fatal- 
ism, which  undoubtedly  helps  them  to  "carry 
on." 

Why  worry?  You  are  all  right  imtil  the 
shell  with  your  name  comes  over.  "You 
never  know  your  luck,"  is  an  expression 
laden  with  meaning. 

69 


OUT  THERE 

The  strain  and  stress  of  it  all  have  been 
tremendously  lessened  by  the  unselfish  and 
Christlike  services  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 

For  it  is  out  there  that  men  stand  most 
in  need  not  of  preaching,  but  of  service. 
The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  has  become  a  very  large 
factor  in  the  life  of  the  British  army,  espe- 
cially at  the  front.  Sir  Douglas  Haig  has 
said,  "the  value  of  the  work  done  by  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  huts  in  France  is  incalculable. 
All  up  and  down  the  front  it  is  ^carrying  on,' 
helping  to  cheer  and  make  less  weary  the 
soldier's  life." 

In  charge  of  all  the  British  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
work  in  France  is  Mr.  Oliver  McCowen,  a 
man  of  tremendous  organizing  power  and 
foresight,  of  few  words  but  enormous  driving 
power.  His  hundreds  of  workers  follow  him 
in  the  deepest  spirit  of  love  and  devotion. 
He  is  a  leader  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

Associated  with  Mr.  McCowen  is  Mr. 
Harry  Holmes,  who  is  at  the  head  of  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  work  on  the  British  front.  For 
two  years  Holmes  has  carried  forward  his 
work  constantly  under  shellfire.    During  the 

70 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

first  year  of  the  war  he  directed  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  work  with  General  Smuts'  army  in  his 
campaign  in  South  Africa. 

In  the  zone  of  the  second  British  army 
alone  I  found  over  one  hundred  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
centers,  every  single  hut,  cellar  and  dugout 
swept  by  the  broom  of  death. 

There  are  three  types  of  work  at  the  front: 

First,  the  work  of  these  huts,  or  buildings, 
which  are  in  the  part  of  the  line  farthest 
removed  from  the  actual  front  line  trench. 
They  are  long,  low,  wooden  buildings,  which 
must  be  hidden  under  the  trees,  or  camou- 
flaged, so  that  the  German  balloons,  which 
hang  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the  German 
planes,  that  are  constantly  trying  to  pass 
over  the  British  lines,  cannot  send  a  signal 
which  will  bring  over  a  shell.  Especially 
are  they  in  danger  of  being  bombed  by  planes 
on  moonlight  nights. 

Into  these  huts  the  men  crowd  by  the 
hundreds,  night  after  night,  day  after  day, 
to  write  their  home  letters.  Quite  often  it 
is  their  last  farewell  letter  before  "going  in" 
to  "go  over  the  top."     They  get  their  cup 

71 


OUT  THERE 

of  tea,  smokes,  etc.,  at  the  canteen.  They 
pack  the  hut  night  after  night  to  see  the 
movies,  hear  the  concerts,  witness  the  wrest- 
ling and  boxing  matches,  swap  stories,  and 
last,  but  not  least,  hear  a  religious  message 
from  men  like  Dr.  John  Kelman,  Dr.  George 
Adam,  Dr.  Harry  Emerson  Fosdick,  Harry 
Lauder,  Bishop  Wilson,  the  Bishop  of  Lon- 
don, and  other  men  of  national  reputation. 

One  night  I  went  into  a  great  hut  near 
iVimy  which  was  packed  and  jammed  with 
men.  They  were  standing  in  the  aisles  and 
hanging  on  to  the  rafters.  The  air  was  blue 
with  tobacco  smoke. 

On  the  stage  a  musical  comedy  was  in 
progress.  Eight  men  and  two  girls  were 
putting  on  the  show.  Every  man  in  the  hut 
had  forgotten  he  was  out  in  France  as  he 
listened  to  those  two  beautiful  girls  singing 
and  watched  them  dance.  The  eyes  of  all 
were  riveted  on  the  stage.  None  of  the  men 
seemed  to  hear  the  hissing  and  screeching 
shells  as  they  went  fljang  over  the  hut  back  to 
the  railroad  station.  On  the  front  seat  were 
the  General  and  his   staff.     For  two  solid 

72 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

hours  all  of  the  men  were  being  lifted  out  of 
the  strain  and  stress  of  battle. 

After  the  show  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretary- 
insisted  on  introducing  me  to  the  theatrical 
company.  Imagine  my  surprise  to  find  those 
eight  soldiers  undressing  in  the  presence  of 
those  two  beautiful  girls,  who  turned  out  to 
be  British  soldiers. 

Laughing  about  it,  the  General  said,  "I 
can't  believe  it;  I  won't  believe  it." 

Night  after  night  this  company  of  men, 
regular  soldiers,  are  detailed  to  go  up  and 
down  the  line,  entertaining  the  men  in  the 
huts. 

In  fact  the  British  army,  realizing  the 
tremendous  importance  of  keeping  the  sol- 
diers cheerful,  sets  aside  a  certain  number 
of  fighting  men,  quite  often  professional  en- 
tertainers in  civil  life,  whose  duty  it  is  to 
entertain  the  soldiers  by  shows,  concerts,  vau- 
deville, etc.  Many  of  these  companies  take 
very  suggestive  names,  such  as  "The  Star 
Shells,"  "The  Wizbangs,"  "The  Very 
Lights,"  etc.  In  addition  to  this  the  Y.  M. 
C,  A.  keeps  nine  professional  concert  parties 

73 


OUT  THERE 

out  in  France,  which  are  known  as  the  Lena 
Ashwell  Concert  Parties. 

This  work  was  first  suggested,  organized 
and  provided  for  by  Miss  Ashwell,  the 
actress,  famous  for  her  work  with  Sir  Henry- 
Irving  and  other  stage  celebrities.  Miss  Ash- 
well is  among  the  many  actors  who  have 
rallied  nobly  to  the  colors,  doing  their  bit  to 
help  the  boys  "out  there"  "carry  on."  Lena 
Ashwell  Concert  Parties  have  gone  every- 
where with  the  British  armies.  In  France, 
in  the  East,  up  and  down  the  Suez  Canal 
they  go. 

We  hear  of  an  alliance  between  the  church 
and  the  theatre.  Here  are  the  people  of  the 
mimic  world  doing  God's  work  in  their  own 
way. 

Men  do  not  come  to  like  shellfire,  yet,  in 
a  way,  they  become  used  to  it. 

One  Saturday  night  one  of  the  New  Zea- 
land huts  was  very  badly  "strafed."  A¥hen 
the  shells  began  to  fall  around  it,  the  men 
took  to  the  dugout.  The  next  morning  the 
Secretary  went  back  to  the  building  and 
found  one  end  of  it  demolished.     The  shells 

74 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 


were  still  hissing  overhead,  but  seated  at  the 
piano,  which  had  escaped  injury,  was  a  New 
Zealand  lad,  with  his  steel  helmet  cocked  on 
one  side  of  his  head,  beating  away  and  sing- 
ing at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Pack  up  your 
troubles  in  your  old  kit  bag,  and  smile,  smile, 
smile!" 


Y.  M.  C.  A.  Hut  Destroyed  by  SheU  Fire  in  1917 

This  hut  had  been  erected  to  the  memory  of  a  young  Canadian 
second  lieutenant  by  his  father 

A  certain  hut  was  destroyed  on  Wliitsun- 
day,  1917.  This  hut  had  been  erected  to 
the  memory  of  a  young  Canadian  2d  Lieu- 
tenant  by   his    father,    and   was    completely 

75 


OUT  THERE 

wrecked  by  shellfire.  The  staff  of  workers, 
when  the  "strafe"  commenced,  sought  safety 
in  a  nearby  dugout. 

They  returned  when  a  lull  came  in  the 
firing.  As  they  approached  the  hut  to  pack 
up  their  stores,  although  they  realized  that 
Fritz  had  spotted  the  building,  they  were 


The  Anderson  Hut,  Somewhere  in  France 
Note  the  natural  camouflage  supplied  by  the  trees 

greeted  by  the  shell  which  fell  in  the  middle 
of  the  hut,  completely  destroying  it. 

In  the  devastated  villages  we  find  the  sec- 
ond type  of  work  that  is  being  carried  on 

by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  at  the  front. 

76 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

In  the  cellar  of  some  old  building  a  Sec- 
retary has  set  up  his  canteen.  Men  flock 
into  it  by  hundreds  for  a  cup  of  hot  tea, 
other  little  nicknacks,  or  smokes. 

In  one  hut  tens  of  thousands  have  received 
comfort  and  cheer.  In  fact,  during  the  win- 
ter of  1916  and  1917,  over  160,000  cups  of 
cocoa  alone  were  given  away  in  this  one 
cellar.  I  arrived  at  five  o'clock  one  after- 
noon and  found  over  500  men  in  line  waiting 
to  get  inside  for  a  cup  of  tea  or  some  other 
simple  refreshment.  Day  after  day  as  many 
as  6,000  men  are  being  served  in  this  Httle 
cellar.  It  is  located  in  a  shell-swept  area. 
It  has  had  eight  direct  hits  by  shells. 

But  the  work  has  never  stopped  for  a 
single  day.  The  Secretary  has  arranged  to 
secure  all  of  the  fresh  eggs  available  back 
of  the  lines,  and  he  sells  them  to  the  men 
at  cost  from  his  canteen.  The  week  before 
my  arrival  over  25,000  eggs  had  been  handled. 

Shortly  after  returning  to  America  I  was 
speaking  in  Spokane.  During  the  course  of 
my  talk  I  held  up  the  picture  of  this  build- 
ing.    A  young  Canadian  ojSicer  who  was  in 

77 


OUT  THERE 

the  audience  came  up  afterwards  and  said: 

"You  will  never  know  what  that  cellar 
meant  to  me  and  my  men  during  the  cold, 
bleak  days  last  winter." 

The  last  general  type  of  work  being  done 
by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  at  the  very  front,  in 
the  dugouts,  up  in  the  forest  of  barbed  wire, 
up  where  the  great  hounds  of  hell  are  always 
barking,  up  where  the  bullets  always  whine. 
The  dugouts  are  so  stationed  that  the  men 
pass  by  in  going  in  and  coming  out  of  the 
front  line  trench. 

It  is  here  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  reaches  out 
and  gives  your  boy  his  last  helping  hand 
before  he  goes  into  the  front  line  to  go  "over 
the  top."  It  is  here  the  hand  reaches  out  to 
give  him  the  first  human  touch  as  he  comes 
struggling  painfully  back  from  No  Man's 
Land,  tired  and  weary  after  his  turn  in  the 
front  line. 

I  found  them  using  German  dugouts  very 
largely.  But  there  is  great  disadvantage  to 
this.  They  open  toward  Berlin  and  not 
Paris,  which  makes  them  uncomfortable  at 
times,  especially  if  Fritz  spots  them. 

78 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

Motor  cars  are  fitted  up  as  soup  kitchens 
and  canteens  for  use  when  the  troops  are  on 
the  move.  ^lost  of  the  work  is  carried  on 
at  night  while  the  troops  are  arriving  and 
departing  from  the  raiboad  stations. 

We  enter  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  hut  nearest  the 
German  Hues.  Here  we  find  an  American 
preacher  from  Montclair,  N.  J.,  running  the 
hut,  hving  in  a  dugout  under  the  platform 
of  the  building.  All  around  the  hut  they  are 
moving  in  the  great  howitzers,  getting  ready 
for  the  big  show.  The  American  Secretary 
has  very  much  endeared  himself  to  all  the 
soldiers.  A  typical  Yankee,  he  has  proudly 
boasted  that  he  is  one  of  the  first  to  take  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  to  No  Man's  Land.  One 
of  the  officers,  good-humoredly  joking  him 
about  it,  said,  "You  will  take  Old  Glory 
back  with  you  to  the  States  to  exhibit,  won't 
you?"  and  he  very  cleverly  rephed,  "Yes,  if 
I  don't  go  home  to  'Glory'  first." 

In  advance  of  this  hut  five  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
dugouts  have  been  destroyed  within  two 
months. 

The  "Queen  Mary  Dugout"  was  situated 
79 


OUT  THERE 


in  the  woods  on  the  summit  of  a  small  ridge. 
It  was  no  great  distance  from  the  City  of 
Ypres.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that 
this  district  has  been  the  scene  of  some  of  the 
hardest  fighting  on  the  Ypres  salient.  Many 
a  British  soldier  remembers  it  with  good  cause. 


Entrance  to  the  Queen  Alexandria  Dugout 
Being  very  busy  one  day,  help  was  sent 
for  from  a  neighboring  Y.  M.  C.  A.  dug- 
out, and  two  or  three  orderlies  tossed  up  to 
see  who  was  to  go.  The  man  who  went  was 
crushed  to  death  under  the  iron  side  of  the 
dugout  when  it  was  shattered  by  the  direct 
hit  of  a  shell  some  two  hours  later. 

The  Queen  Alexandria  dugout  was  quite 
80 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

close  to  the  Queen  Mary  dugout  and  was 
"knocked  out"  during  the  same  bombard- 
ment. The  Queen  Alexandria  dugout  dis- 
tributed free  cocoa  to  working  parties  who 
were  pasing  to  and  fro  from  the  front  lines 
during  the  long,  trying  winter  of  1916-17. 
Many  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretary  and  worker 


Interior  of  the  Queen  Alexandria  Dugout  After  Bom- 
bardment 

has  "gone  west."    At  the  front  no  man  has  a 
"Safety  First"  passport. 

Here  are  the  directions  and  orders  given 
out  by  the  Directing  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Secretary 
of  one  of  the  armies  to  his  workers.  He 
never  meant  them  to  be  published,  but  I  do 

81 


OUT  THERE 

not  feel  I  shall  be  breaking  faith  with  him 
if  I  publish  them  now.  They  show  in  a 
splendid  way  the  spirit  and  the  work  of  the 
Red  Triangle  workers.  I  also  beheve  that 
our  people  at  home  will  greatly  appreciate 
knowing  what  care  is  being  taken  to  help 
the  lads  carry  the  Old  Kit  Bag. 

Construction  and  Operation  of  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
Dugouts 
Construction. 

Types  of  Dugouts. — The  type  of  dugout  will 
depend  very  largely  upon  the  nature  of  the  area, 
whether  it  is  open  country  or  village.  If  the 
former,  the  most  satisfactory  type  is  that  built  of 
pit  props,  steel  rails,  coirugated  iron  and  sand- 
bagging. A  dugout  18'  X  12',  which  is  a  good  size 
for  our  purposes,  would  need  12'  8"  pit  props, 
four  heavy  steel  rails,  if  possible  sufficient  iron 
to  cover  roof  and  sides  (though  sandbagging  the 
sides  is  satisfactory  if  the  roof  laps  well  over 
the  sides),  and  two  thousand  sandbags.  The 
dugout  should  be  built  in  an  excavation  of  the 
highest  available  cHif  or  bank,  away  from  enemy 
gunfire,  and  it  is  wise  to  remember  that  the  angle 
of  descent  of  howitzer  shells  is  very  steep,  almost 
perpendicular,  so  too  much  shelter  cannot  be  had. 

If  available,  a  lining  of  tar-paper  during  win- 
ter months  will  mean  the  saving  of  stock  from 

82 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

dampness.  A  board  floor  or  bath  mats  help  in  this 
respect.  Bunks  for  the  staff  should  be  con- 
structed one  above  the  other  and  the  use  of  boxes 
arranged  in  tiers  is  far  superior  to  shelves  both 
for  quick  service  and  the  saving  of  space. 

A  large  open  space  for  serving  is  desirable  for 
speed,  so  that  when  necessary  even  three  can 
work  in  comfort.  Flaps  can  be  built  to  cover 
part  of  the  space  during  slack  time.  In  village 
areas  cellars  are  always  available  for  use  and  are 
very  satisfactory.  The  roofs  of  all  French  cellars 
are  of  steel  rail  and  brick  construction.  It  is 
good  policy,  however,  to  reinforce  them  with  pit 
props  and  heavy  planks,  if  much  material  is  to 
be  thrown  on  top,  for  protection.  It  is  usually 
possible  to  get  two  rooms  adjoining  each  other, 
using  one  for  canteen  and  one  for  tea  room,  and 
having  separate  entrance  and  exit  from  the  street 
above.  A  coat  of  white  paint  lightens  up  the 
place  and  adds  a  cheering  aspect  to  what  is  other- 
wise a  dull  and  depressing  hole. 

Location  of  Dugouts. — As  a  general  principle 
it  is  best  to  put  the  plant  where  the  men  are, 
rather  than  have  them  travel  to  the  plant,  as  often 
tliis  means  traffic  over  places  where  it  is  highly 
undesirable  to  have  movement  of  any  kind.  After 
that  the  things  to  keep  in  mind  are  observation 
by  the  enemy,  transportation  facilities,  and  prox- 
imity of  water.  Railroad  transportation  is  the 
best,  if  available;  water  can  be  taken  from  wells 

83 


OUT  THERE 

or  hauled  by  water  carts,  but  the  new  system  of 
water  mains  being  put  through,  can  be  tapped  at 
any  point  if  accessible  to  the  plant. 

It  is  well  to  avoid  crossroads  and  junctions  of 
roads  with  railroad  lines,  as  such  points  are 
likely  to  be  shelled  frequently.  Move  along  fifty 
yards  or  so. 

The  average  Divisional  front  needs  from  four 
to  six  dugouts  to  have  it  properly  covered,  and 
in  addition  there  should  be,  farther  back,  two  or 
three  tea  stalls  on  roads  which  carry  the  bulk  of 
the  traffic.  No  stock  should  be  carried  in  these 
stalls,  or  undesirable  congestion  will  occur.  Split 
the  distance  from  front  line  to  rest  area  so  that 
the  cup  of  tea  will  be  available  at  regular  points 
on  the  way  up  and  back  for  troops  going  in  or 
out.  In  general  the  farthest  forward  dugouts 
should  be  close  enough  so  that  men  can  be  sent 
back  from  the  front  line  for  goods.  Near  the 
ration  dump  is  usually  a  good  place — the  dugouts 
farther  back  will  cover  troops  in  support  and 
batteries.  Whenever  possible,  dugouts  should  be 
near  to  dressing  stations  and  advanced  aid  posts 
so  that  during  intensive  operations  wounded 
can  be  taken  care  of  where  they  will  naturally  con- 
gregate for  treatment  or  for  transportation  to 
the  rear. 

Operation. 

Dugouts  should  be  open  at  all  times. 

Number  of  Men. — Three  men  are  sufficient  for 

84 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

the  average  dugout,  but  four  are  often  necessary. 
Over-staffing  is  bad,  as  space  is  limited  and  the 
work  usually  not  as  well  done. 

Type  of  Goods.— ^cy  "dud"   stock  should  be 
sent  forward.     To  the  farthest  forward  places  the 
best  goods  are  biscuits,  fruit,  chocolate  and  cig- 
arettes.    Other  things  can  be  added  if  transport 
is  easily  available,  but  such  things  as  shoe  black- 
ing and  brass  polish  should  be  tabooed.      Com- 
forts   should   all   go   forward   and   be   used   with 
discretion.      Newspapers,    if    regularly    delivered 
and  on  time,  are  a  great  boon;  they  should  be 
delivered  to  the  billets  containing  large  numbers 
of  men  at  once.     Stale  news  is  no  news.     Do  not 
display ,  papers  on  or  near  dugouts.     Officers  get 
papers  up  with  rations,  so  our  supply  should  go 
direct  to  the  men.     A  plentiful  supply  of  writing 
paper    and    envelopes    is    imperative,    especially 
where  men  are  occupying  village  areas,  where  they 
have  cellar  accommodations,  tables  and  chairs  and 
every  facility  for  letter-writing. 

Lighting.— CsinAl&s  are  not  satisfactory  as 
lights.  They  soon  mess  everything  up  and  are 
not  steady  enough  in  draughty  places.  Oil  lamps 
are  by  far  the  best.  Petrol  cans  with  the  words 
"Canteen"  above  and  "tea"  below  and  a  big  "Y" 
in  the  center  cut  out  of  the  sides  and  faced  with 
dark  red  paper  make  good  night  signs. 

Advertising. — ^In  addition  to  the  night  lights, 
abundance  of  Y.  M.  C.  A.  pointers  should  be  well 
85 


OUT  THERE 

placed  forward  in  trenches,  making  the  location 
of  the  "Y"  definite;  e.  g.,  "Y.  M.  C.  A.,  in  Clucas 
trench  200  yds."  Enamel  signs  for  the  dugouts 
themselves  are  the  best.  In  Y.  M.  C.  A.  plants 
at  the  rear  a  Hst  giving  location  of  forward  dug- 
outs should  always  be  posted  in  a  conspicuous 
place. 

Control  of  Dugout  Staffs. — The  forward  officer 
should  be  entirely  in  charge  of  the  dugout  staffs. 
He  should  move  them  around  as  he  sees  fit  and 
arrange  with  the  senior  officer  for  reliefs,  which 
should  take  place  every  two  weeks.  The  front 
line  work  should  be  advocated  as  a  privilege  and 
conducted  in  that  spirit. 

Pushes. — When  military  operations  of  impor- 
tance are  in  progress,  at  the  places  farthest  up 
an  extra  equipment  for  making  tea  should  be 
available,  and  biscuits,  chocolate  and  cigarettes 
should  be  packed  in  sandbags  ready  to  be  moved 
forward  in  case  of  any  considerable  advance. 
Petrol  cans  for  packing  of  water  should  always  be 
in  readiness.  The  first  care  during  a  "show"  are 
wounded  men.  If  the  dugout  is  not  sufficiently 
near  nor  strategically  situated  to  catch  the 
wounded,  a  temporary  place  may  be  set  up  at  or 
near  the  dressing  station  for  the  first  forty-eight 
hours  of  the  operations  to  dispense  tea,  biscuits 
and  cigarettes.  Runners  and  ration  parties 
should  be  used  to  get  stuff  through  to  the  men  in 
their  new  positions  if  an  advance  has  been  made. 

86 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

Cartons  of  cigarettes  and  sandbags  full  of  bis- 
cuits will  gladly  be  carried  through  by  these 
means.  As  soon  as  possible  the  forward  officer, 
who  should  keep  himself  free  for  this  purpose, 
should  go  through  with  a  picked  party,  carrying 
tea-making  equipment  and  goods,  and  a  post  be 
established  as  near  to  the  new  front  line  as  feasible. 
Water  should  be  packed  across  until  a  tested  sup- 
ply is  found  forward.  It  is  well  to  avoid  old 
German  dugouts  till  they  have  been  examined  and 
marked  by  engineers,  but  shelters  of  some  kind 
can  be  found  or  hastily  constructed  in  which  to 
carry  on.  Food  containers  are  available  in 
which  to  pack  tea  to  the  men  in  the  new  positions, 
other  goods  going  forward  in  sandbags.  The 
forty-eight  hours  after  a  successful  show  are  the 
best  hours  to  follow  up,  as  enemy  guns  are  being 
hauled  back  and  retaliatory  shelling  and  barrag- 
ing  is  not  usually  heavy.  As  soon  as  the  enemy 
machine  guns  have  been  silenced,  an  advance  can 
be  made  fairly  safely.  It  is  much  better  to  carry 
the  tea  and  goods  to  the  men  and  thus  prevent 
them  from  leaving  their  posts  and  congregating 
around  the  "Y."  Usually  about  four  days  after 
an  advance  the  troops  are  relieved,  and  this  is 
the  final  service  of  the  actual  push,  in  which  we 
take  part.  It  should  be  possible  for  every  man 
being  relieved  to  get  a  hot  drink  several  times 
from  the  front  line  to  rear  billets.  Arriving  at 
the  latter,  any  comforts  on  hand  will  be  of  great 

87 


OUT  THERE 

service,  especially  under  winter  conditions.     This, 
is  particularly  true  of  socks. 

Forward  Officer. — The  Forward  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
Officer  should  live  up  forward.  He  will  learn 
much  more  and  get  far  more  familiar  with  the 
area  and  his  staffs  will  respond  to  his  wishes  far 
better  if  he  is  actually  playing  the  game  close  to 
them. 

Other  Officers. — ^While  it  is  desirable  that  all 
the  "Y"  officers  of  the  division  should  visit  and 
familiarize  themselves  with  the  forward  area,  such 
visits  should  be  made  with  the  Forward  Officer, 
who  is  familiar  with  dangerous  places  and  can 
explain  the  significant  points  about  the  area. 
Touring  as  such  by  officers  is  to  be  condemned, 
as  they  are  likely  to  make  mistakes  of  judgment  In 
rendering  themselves  open  to  observation  at  crit- 
ical points  to  the  danger  of  men  living  in  the  area. 

Spirit  of  Service. — The  way  in  which  the  goods 
we  distribute  free  are  given  out  is  more  important 
than  the  fact  that  we  have  such  things  to  dis- 
tribute; this,  of  course,  is  true  at  the  rear  as  well 
as  forward.  Yet  it  is  more  important  forward, 
where  our  men  are  likely  to  be  nervous  and  wor- 
ried, and  thus  fail  to  appreciate  the  chances 
offered.  The  cheery  word  and  smile  that  should 
go  with  the  tea  and  comforts  are  invaluable  where 
men  are  under  the  pressure  of  discomfort  and 
dangers. 

In  Conclusion. — All  areas  differ  and  each  needs 

88 


THE  OLD  KIT  BAG 

different  treatment.  To  work  out  on  a  plain 
under  direct  observation  from  enemy  balloons  is 
very  different  from  working  behind  a  ridge.  The 
thing  to  remember  is  that  up  forward  we  must 
play  the  game,  having  in  mind  the  objects  which 
the  Mihtary  Authorities  are  seeking  to  attain. 
They  will  be  glad  to  have  us  under  those  condi- 
tions, not  otherwise. 


CHAPTER   VI 

"where  suffering  lips  are  dumb" 

The  first  year  I  went  to  the  war,  I  went 
feeling  that  there  would  be  one  group  of 
men  to  whom  I  would  find  it  difiicult  to 
speak — the  men  who  had  gone  down  and  out 
with  wounds  that  would  forever  put  them  out 
of  the  game  of  life.  The  strange  thing  is,  I 
found  the  easiest  men  to  speak  to  in  all  the 
zone  are  the  men  who  bear  on  their  bodies 
the  scars  of  the  love  they  bear  their  country. 
They  have  faced  eternity  and  have  come  out 
with  the  realization  that  there  are  things 
more  dreadful  than  death  with  honor. 

That  first  year  I  went  into  one  of  the  great 
hospitals.  We  went  into  a  ward  where  all 
the  men  had  made  one  of  the  greatest  sacri- 
fices.    Their  eyes  were  blinded. 

Yet  I  have  never  seen  a  more  cheerful 
group  of  men.  Never  have  I  been  with  men 
who  wei-e  so  hopeful.  I  turned  to  my  friend, 
the  head  of  the  hospital,  and  said: 

90 


"SUFFERING  LIPS  ARE  DUMB" 

"Well,  this  is  remarkable.  I  never  met 
men  so  cheerful." 

He  said: 

"Isn't  that  a  strange  thing — one  of  the 
world's  greatest  experts  on  the  blind  was 
here  the  other  day  and  he  made  that  same 
remark.  Sitting  near  by  was  a  blind  lad 
who  heard  him,  and  forgetting  his  disci- 
pline, he  said,  'Sir,  you  just  wait  until  you 
see  the  stout  Madonna.' " 

A  moment  later  I  saw  her.  She  weighed 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty,  but  if  you  could 
have  weighed  her  heart  it  would  have  weighed 
a  thousand  pounds.  Every  fellow  in  that 
ward  had  come  into  the  great  big  warmth  of 
the  heart  of  that  matron,  and  in  her  face 
was  reflected  the  spirit  of  the  Madonna.  She 
was  daily  giving  of  herself  to  these  brave 
lads.  She  was  teaching  them  to  see  anew 
with  their  hands,  and  not  their  eyes.  She 
was  giving  them  a  new  lease  on  life,  and 
hope  for  the  days  to  come,  even  though  eyes 
were  blinded.  She  was  helping  to  carry  their 
burdens.  After  all,  I  have  come  to  realize, 
?iter  having  gone  in  and  out  of  the  zone,  that 

91 


OUT  THERE 

all  the  heroes  are  not  in  the  firing  line,  not  for 
one  minute. 

The  heroes  are  the  mothers,  and  the  wives, 
and  the  sisters,  and  the  nurses  who  are  car- 
rying forward  this  battle.  France  today 
could  not  go  forward  one  single  hour  if  it 
were  not  for  the  women  of  France — ^the  mar- 
velous women  of  France. 

I  have  seen  them  send  their  boys  and 
fathers  away  with  a  smile  on  their  lips,  and 
that  was  in  the  days  when  it  was  darkest 
and  they  knew  there  was  no  coming  back. 
Then  was  when  the  cloud  was  really  dark. 

One  afternoon  dm'ing  my  first  journey 
into  the  war  zone  I  was  speaking  in  one  of 
the  great  training  camps  in  England. 

A  very  prominent  English  lady,  who  was 
in  the  camp  as  a  canteen  worker,  invited  in 
all  of  the  university  men  in  one  of  the  Ca- 
nadian units  to  a  Sunday  afternoon  tea,  at 
which  I  was  asked  to  speak.  There  gath- 
ered into  the  hut  that  afternoon  some  three 
hundred  university  men,  all  of  them  privates 
and  non-commissioned  officers. 

The  program  was  put  on  by  the  men  them- 


"SUFFERING  LIPS  ARE  DUMB" 

selves.  Especially  was  I  much  impressed  by 
the  singing  of  one  of  the  privates.  Upon 
inquiry  I  found  out  that  before  the  war  he 
had  been  the  soloist  in  one  of  the  largest 
churches  in  all  Canada. 

After  I  had  talked  with  the  men  for  some 
time  they  insisted  upon  hearing  from  their 
hostess  of  the  afternoon.  After  repeated 
applause  she  came  to  the  platform.  The 
appreciation  of  the  men  for  her  kindness 
was  very  marked  indeed.  In  speaking  to 
them  she  said,  "It  has  been  very  little  that  I 
have  done  for  you  this  afternoon.  However, 
I  have  tried  to  do  for  you  what  I  know  some 
other  mothers  have  tried  to  do  for  my  two 
boys — one  of  them  Vent  home'  from  the 
trenches  last  week,  the  other  is  over  at  the 
front  now." 

As  she  spoke  of  the  death  of  her  first  son 
in  such  a  quiet  way  I  could  not  help  feeling 
that  she  was  as  truly  helping  to  carry  forth 
the  war  as  the  men  who  are  doing  their  bit  at 
the  front. 

Throughout  the  war  zone  I  found  the 
mothers  and  wives  quietly  carrying  their  bur- 

93 


OUT  THERE 

dens.  However,  it  is  the  exceptional  home 
that  has  not  been  touched  by  the  supreme 
sacrifice.  Instead  of  giving  themselves  up  to 
grief,  I  found  everywhere  that  the  women 
have  come  forward  to  carry  their  share  of 
the  load.  Thousands  of  them  are  going  into 
the  munition  factories,  thousands  went  on 
the  farms  in  order  to  relieve  the  men  for 
war  duty. 

A  Brigadier  General  told  me  that  the  day 
Britain  declared  war  his  wife  sent  away  aU 
of  the  servants  and  from  that  time  to  this 
has  been  doing  her  own  work.  In  addition 
she  went  to  one  of  the  large  Y.  M.  C.  A.'s 
in  London,  there  to  cook  four  to  five  hun- 
dred suppers  every  night  for  the  boys  as 
they  passed  through  London  going  to  or 
returning  from  the  front.  She  worked  in 
the  huts  for  some  two  years,  at  the  end  of 
which  time  her  health  was  so  broken  it  was 
necessary  for  her  to  stop  work  there.  But 
she  did  not  stop  work  entirely,  because  she 
went  immediately  to  a  Httle  farm  so  as  to 
help  there  and  at  the  same  time  build  up 

her  strength. 

94 


"SUFFERING  LIPS  ARE  DUMB" 

I  have  no  question  but  that  the  American 
women  will  prove  just  as  worthy  as  have 
the  marvelous  British  and  French  women. 

Entering  the  ward  of  a  large  base  hospital 
I  noticed  a  chap;  with  his  cane  in  hand, 
pounding  his  way  across  the  ward,  teaching 
the  other  lad  how  to  get  about. 

I  walked  up  to  them  and  started  to  talk. 
I  certainly  had  not  meant  to  say  one  sad 
or  sympathetic  word,  because  their  load  was 
heavy  enough  without  having  some  one  try 
to  sympathize  and  pity  them.  I  was  trying 
to  speak  cheerfully,  but  the  fellow  possibly 
caught  in  my  voice  a  little  bit  of  sympathy. 
I  said: 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

One  fellow  said: 

"Six  months,  sir," 

Turning  to  the  other: 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"Three  days.  It  happened,  sir,  six  days 
ago  over  in  Flanders." 

The  boy  who  had  been  there  six  months 
possibly  caught  in  my  voice  a  little  sympa- 
thy— and  he  did  not  want  it.    He  let  go  the 

95 


OUT  THERE 

hand  of  his  friend,  threw  back  his  shoulders, 
tried  to  focus  his  stone  eyes  on  me,  and  said: 

"Mister,  it  is  not  so  bad  when  you  get 
used  to  it.'* 

That  is  the  spirit  of  the  men  overseas, 
"Not  so  bad  when  you  get  used  to  it.'* 

And  I  have  come  back  saying  that  this 
war  must  be  won;  and  it  will  be  won  when 
men  throw  back  their  shoulders  and,  with 
blinded  eyes,  say,  "It  is  not  so  bad  when 
you  get  used  to  it."  *» 

I  have  seen  them  dragging  themselves  back 
out  of  the  hne  suffering  the  tortures  of  hell, 
but  no  moaning  or  groaning.  Yes,  I  have 
stood  by  the  stretchers  where  they  were  first 
put  down  after  the  trip  back  from  No  Man's 
Land.  The  bloodshot  and  pleading  eyes 
told  the  story.  Their  hps  were  silent.  Suf- 
fering hps  are  dumb.  "Out  there"  bodies  are 
shattered,  but  their  souls  are  coming  to  great 
heights,  for  through  their  sacrifices  and  suf- 
fering men  are  learning  the  road  to  the  cross. 

Oh,  but  the  honest  pride  with  which  they 
carry  their  wounds! 

I  recall  one  night,  after  speaking  in  a 
96 


"SUFFERING  LIPS  ARE  DUMB" 

great    convalescent    camp,    a    Canadian    lad 
came  limping  forward  and  said: 

"Mister,  you  know  I  learned  what  prayer 
meant  in  the  trenches,  for  I  tell  you  a  fellow 
can  pray  when  he  is  Ij'ing  in  a  shellhole  with 
the  bullets  whizzing  and  zipping  around  him." 

Then,  in  the  same  spirit  and  with  a  deep 
pride  in  his  voice: 

"Don't  you  want  to  see  my  wounds?" 

He  bared  his  leg,  which  had  been  torn  with 
shrapnel  shell.  Off  came  his  coat,  and  as  he 
lifted  his  shirt,  I  looked  on  a  side  which  had 
been  torn  and  mangled  by  shrapnel  shell, 
leaving  a  deep  scar,  which  would  send  him 
back  a  physical  wreck. 

But  as  I  looked  into  his  face  and  saw  the 
look  of  personal  victory  over  physical  pain, 
I  gripped  him  by  the  hand  and  said: 

"My  good  man,  when  you  go  back  to  Can- 
ada, back  to  your  home,  you  need  not  tell 
them  that  you  love  your  country,  that  you 
love  your  home,  that  you  love  your  God — 
/^ust  show  them  your  scars." 

He  bore  on  his  body  the  marks  of  the  sac- 
rifice and  love  which  he  carried  in  his  heart 
for  the  deep  and  sacred  things  of  life. 

97 


OUT  THEUE 

In  the  same  convalescent  camp  another  sol- 
dier came  up  after  I  had  ceased  speaking, 
and  told  me  that  he  would  soon  be  mustered 
out  of  the  hospital,  unfit  for  ser\dce.  Then 
he  said,  with  the  pull  of  home  strong  upon 
him: 

"I  want  you  to  see  the  picture  of  my 
family." 

Reaching  into  his  pocket  he  brought  out 
an  old,  dirty,  torn  Testament  and,  opening 
it,  showed  me  the  picture  of  his  wife  and  the 
five  little  ones  back  in  Canada  waiting  for 
him.  Looking  at  the  picture  and  then  at 
him,  I  said: 

"What's  that  Httle  book  you  have  there?" 
A  look  of  amazement  came  over  his  face: 
"Why,  don't  you  know?— that's  a  Testa- 
ment." 

"I  thought  it  was.  Do  you  ever  read  it?" 
Over  his  face  there  swept  a  marvelous  ex- 
pression of  joy — ^he  gripped  the  Testament 
until  the  veins  stood  out  on  his  hand,  and 
looking  at  me,  with  tears  coming  into  his 
eyes,  said: 

"Man — it's  all  I  had  during  those  days  of 
hell  in  the  trenches!" 

98 


CHAPTER   VII 


"l    WAS    SICK    AND    IN    PRISON    AND    YE    CAME 
UNTO  me" 


In  all  the  war  zone  there  is  no  more  lonely, 
God  forsaken,  more-to-be-pitied  group  of  men 
than  the  prisoners  of  war. 

They  are  herded  into  stockades  by  the  thou- 
sands, there  to  remain  in  many  instances  un- 
til death  puts  an  end  to  their  misery. 

These  stockades  are  surrounded  by  great 
barbed- wire  fences,  some  twenty  feet  in  height. 
Into  the  camps  have  been  massed  hterally 
thousands  of  men.  In  the  Teutonic  countries 
in  some  cases  as  many  as  seventy  thousand 
men  are  in  one  camp.  Already  in  the  prison 
camps  of  the  different  countries  are  massed 
more  than  three  times  as  many  men  as  have 
ever  been  engaged  in  any  war  prior  to  this 
one.  They  are  rapidly  approaching  seven  mil- 
lion prisoners. 

A  large  proportion  of  the  prisoners  cap- 
tured in  this  war  have  been  taken  by  Ger- 

99 


OUT  THERE 

many  and  Austria  in  the  early  part  of  the  war. 

The  American  Ambassador  has,  in  his  book, 
"My  Four  Years  in  Germany,"  told  a  story 
which  in  a  small  way  brings  to  the  minds  of 
the  American  people  the  dreadful  state  of 
affairs  in  many  of  the  prison  camps  in  Aus- 
tria and  Germany.  Thousands  of  men  have 
died  of  typhus  and  from  lack  of  medical  at- 
tention; large  numbers,  because  of  the  in- 
sufficient amount  of  food  that  has  been  given 
to  them,  have  literally  sickened  and  died  be- 
cause of  improper  nourishment. 

Possibly  the  food  conditions  in  the  Hun 
prison  camps  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that 
both  Germany  and  Austria  are  in  dire  need 
of  food.  With  their  type  of  mind  it  is  quite 
to  be  expected  that  the  prisoners  in  their  midst 
shall  be  allowed  to  go  hungry  and  permitted 
to  suffer  in  order  to  save  food  for  the  civil 
population. 

As  the  great  military  chain  tightens  around 
Austria  and  Germany  we  shall  hear  of  far 
more  frightful  conditions  in  the  prison  camps 
than  we  have  yet  dreamed  of. 

As  one  of  the  leading  statesmen  of  Ger- 
100 


"YE  CAME  UNTO  ME" 

many  said  to  a  friend  of  mine  just  before 
America  went  into  the  war,  and  before  my 
friend  left  Germany: 

"Herr ,  the  Allies  say  they  are  going  to 

starve  us.  The}^  can  try  it,  but  before  they 
starve  Germany  there  are  millions  of  the  Allies 
(he  was  referring  to  the  civilians  in  invaded 
Belgium,  Servia,  Russia  and  Northern 
France)  within  the  borders  of  Germany  who 
will  starve  before  Germany  starves." 

We  are  dealing  with  an  enemy  that  will 
stop  at  no  method  of  brutality  in  her  effort 
to  win  the  war. 

In  the  face  of  all  the  reports  that  have  come 
out  of  Germany  with  regard  to  the  manner 
in  which  they  are  treating  our  prisoners,  I 
would  have  my  readers  know  the  true  facts 
as  to  the  way  in  which  the  Allies  are  treating 
their  prisoners. 

One  cold,  bleak  autumn  day  I  made  my 
first  visit  to  a  great  prison  camp.  The  camp 
nestled  in  a  little  valley  among  the  great 
Highlands  of  Scotland.  It  was  a  blustery, 
rainy  day. 

The  soldiers  who  were  detailed  to  guard  the 
101 


OUT  THERE 

camp  were  living  outside  the  prison  fence  in 
tents  that  were  far  from  comfortable.  The 
guards,  as  they  marched  back  and  forth,  were 
chilled  through  from  the  cold  rain.  The  work 
of  the  guards  is  a  most  unpleasant  duty,  far 
away  from  the  excitement  and  tension  of  the 
battle  line. 

I  stood  fairly  amazed  as  I  viewed  the  bar- 
racks in  which  the  prisoners  were  living. 
Long,  low,  wooden  barracks  fitted  up  most 
comfortably,  sanitation  perfect,  and  heated 
inside  by  stoves. 

Even  though  it  was  raining,  a  large  num- 
ber of  the  prisoners  had  gathered  out  in  the 
yard  of  the  prison  camp  to  witness  a  football 
game  which  was  going  on  among  them. 

Certainly  these  men  had  little  to  complain 
of.  Their  food  was  wholesome,  their  bar- 
racks comfortable,  and  the  care  with  which 
they  were  being  looked  after  by  the  Com- 
mandant of  the  camp  reminded  one  more  of 
the  care  that  an  officer  gives  to  his  own  men. 

Later  it  was  my  privilege  to  visit  many  of 
the  prison  camps  in  Britain,  and  in  every 
single  one  I  found  the  men  living  in  clean, 

102 


"YE  CAME  UNTO  ME" 

wholesome,  sanitary  buildings.  Inasmuch  as 
that  was  during  the  first  and  second  years  of 
the  war  I  found  them  receiving  plenty  of 
white  bread.  The  food  in  general  was  of  the 
very  best  quality  and  there  was  abundance  for 
all. 

In  all  of  the  prison  camps  adequate  ar- 
rangements had  been  made  for  athletics  and 
games  of  all  sorts,  music  and  recreation. 

In  compliance  with  the  regulations  re  guard- 
ing the  treatment  of  prisoners  I  found  all  offi- 
cers in  barracks  by  themselves. 

Before  going  to  the  front  I  was  much 
amused  one  afternoon  in  Alexandria,  Egypt, 
to  find  a  prison  camp  which  they  called  the 
Turkish  Officers'  Rest  Camp.  The  camp 
was  built  right  on  the  seashore  so  that  the 
barbed-wire  fence  went  out  into  the  water. 
By  this  means  the  Turkish  Officers  had  the  op- 
portunity for  surf  bathing,  and  ever  so  often 
the  prisoners  from  Cairo  and  other  parts  were 
brought  to  Alexandria  for  a  month  to  what 
they  call  the  rest  camp.  Giving  prisoners  a 
vacation  was  an  entirely  new  thought  to  me. 

Great  as  was  my  astonishment  at  the  Chris- 
103 


OUT  THERE 

tian  treatment  that  Britain  was  giving  her 
prisoners  it  all  faded  into  insignificance  when 
I  saw  the  marvelous  way  in  which  the  Ger- 
man prisoners  are  treated  at  the  British  front. 

Going  along  the  battle  front  the  day  before 
a  battle  I  asked  my  friend: 

"What  are  these  little  stockades?" 

Ever  so  often,  within  the  line,  I  found  small 
stockades  surrounded  by  barbed-wire  fences 
some  six  feet  high — all  of  them  empty.  My 
friend  replied: 

"Those  are  for  the  prisoners  who  will  be 
captured  tomorrow  morning." 

The  next  morning  as  I  stood  in  an  old  dug- 
out and  saw  the  men  streaming  down  the 
"Path  of  the  Walking  Wounded"  I  could  not 
believe  what  my  eyes  were  actually  seeing. 
Here  comes  a  wounded  Tommy,  struggling 
along,  but  around  his  neck  is  the  arm  of  a 
German  prisoner  who  is  severely  wounded. 
The  British  soldier  is  helping  him  back  to, 
the  hospital. 

Here  come  two  wounded  soldiers,  and  in 
between  them  they  are  supporting  a  wounded 

Boche. 

104 


"YE  CAME  UNTO  ME'* 

As  they  stop  at  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  dugout, 
in  every  single  instance  I  saw  the  British 
Tommy  give  his  prisoner  the  cup  of  tea  or  the 
"fag"  as  it  was  handed  out  to  them  by  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A. 

But  it  was  outside  the  dressing  stations 
where  I  received  my  greatest  surprise.  Here, 
congregated  among  the  wounded  British, 
were  also  the  German  walking  wounded  pris- 
oners. Among  all  of  the  hundreds  of 
wounded  Germans  that  I  saw  outside  the 
station  I  did  not  see  a  single  British  soldier 
by  look,  or  by  act,  or  by  inference,  mistreat  a 
single  German  prisoner.  On  the  contrary, 
I  saw  Tommy  after  Tommy,  no  matter  how 
badly  wounded,  as  he  received  his  cup  of  tea 
in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent,  turn  and  give  it  to 
his  wounded  enemy.  I  saw  them  give  their 
wounded  prisoners  their  own  cigarettes,  before 
they  smoked  one  themselves.  I  saw  them 
give  their  bowls  of  soup,  their  biscuits,  their 
chocolate. 

Never  will  I  forget  standing  beside  one 
young  English  lad  who  was  badly  wounded. 
In  addition  he  had  been  gassed.     As  I  came 

105 


OUT  THERE 

up  his  whole  attention  was  centered  on  a  Ger- 
man lad  who  could  not  have  been  over  seven- 
teen. The  German  boy's  eye  had  been  shot 
away.  An  old  dirty  handkerchief  had  been 
stuffed  into  the  wound  to  stop  the  flow  of 
blood.  The  poor  chap  was  shaking  from  head 
to  foot  as  a  tree  might  shake  in  an  awful 
storm.  In  addition  to  his  wound  he  had  one 
of  the  worst  cases  of  shell  shock  I  have  ever 
seen.  The  young  British  lad,  as  he  looked  on 
his  enemy  with  compassion  and  pity,  forgot 
his  own  wounds.     Turning  to  me,  he  said: 

*'Poor  devil — Hain't  hit  too  bad,  'e  got  'is 
aU  right!" 

Whenever  I  hear  anyone  say  that  war 
brutalizes  men  I  think  of  standing  outside 
those  dressing  stations  beholding  the  British 
soldiers  forgiving  their  enemies  and  doing 
good  unto  those  who  had  despitefuUy  used 
them. 

Only  a  matter  of  a  few  hours  before  they 
had  gone  into  that  hell  and  had  faced  thou- 
sands of  enemies.  Now,  out  from  the  front 
line,  back  from  "No  Man's  Land,"  they  have 
forgotten   their  hatred,   have   forgiven  their 

106 


"YE  CAME  UNTO  ME" 

enemies  and  are  dealing  in  kindness  with  those 
who  undoubtedly  would  not  have  given  them 
a  cup  of  cold  water  had  they  been  captives. 

I  saw  the  stretcher  bearers  bringing  in  the 
men  who  could  no  longer  help  themselves,  I 
saw  them  bringing  in  the  German  wounded 
along  with  their  own.  They  bring  in  the 
enemy  as  they  would  bring  in  their  own 
brothers. 

If  our  lads  can  come  out  of  the  line  and 
treat  their  prisoners  as  I  saw  the  British  do, 
after  having  faced  them  in  the  hand-to-hand 
death  grapple,  I  am  forced  to  say: 

"Thank  God!  War  does  not  brutalize. 
Idealism  is  uppermost." 

I  can  almost  hear  some  of  my  readers  say- 
ing: 

"This  is  awful.  Why  do  they  treat  the 
prisoners  so  well?" 

Well  might  such  a  question  be  asked.  But 
stop — ^we  are  fighting  not  with  the  thought  of 
merely  ending  this  war,  but  that  war  shall 
cease  and  vanish  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
And  of  the  thousands  of  prisoners  captured, 
practically  all  will  be  going  back  to  their  own 

107 


OUT  THERE 

country,  there  to  tell  of  the  Christlike  treat- 
ment they  received  at  the  hands  of  their 
enemy.  These  men  will  be  going  to  all  parts 
of  the  German  and  Austrian  Empires.  Such 
treatment  as  is  being  accorded  them  is  bound 
to  have  its  effect  on  the  whole  German  popu- 
lation after  the  war.  Ours  is  a  war  not  for 
retaliation — not  a  war  of  hate — but  a  war  for 
democracy. 

There  came  past  one  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
dugouts  one  afternoon  an  Australian  Officer 
with  a  small  guard,  in  charge  of  a  number 
of  German  prisoners.  As  they  stopped  for 
their  cup  of  tea  the  Australian  Officer  laugh- 
ingly said: 

"Now,  boys,  let  the  guests  have  their  tea 
first." 

Compare  such  treatment  as  this  with  the 
treatment  that  our  unfortunate  lads  have  re- 
ceived who  have  been  captured  by  the  enemy. 

It  was  not  my  privilege  to  see  the  French 
Camps,  or  the  German  prisoners  coming  into 
the  French  camps,  but  I  understand  that 
France  has  given  them  the  same  kind  and 
considerate  treatment. 

108 


"YE  CAME  UNTO  ME" 

After  the  war  these  prisoners  are  going 
back  to  tell  the  true  story  of  the  treatment 
which  they  received.  In  all  the  world's  his- 
tory there  is  no  more  remarkable  story  of  un- 
selfish and  Christlike  service  than  that  which 
has  been  and  is  being  rendered  in  all  of  the 
prisoners'  camps  (save  in  Turkey)  by  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  under  the  marvelous  leadership 
of  Dr.  John  R.  Mott. 

Scarcely  had  the  war  started  and  the  prison 
camps  commenced  to  fill  when  Dr.  Mott  vis- 
ited the  war  zone.  He  visited  both  sides  of 
the  conflict  and  laid  the  foundation  for  a 
work  which  will  never  be  forgotten  by  a  mul- 
titude of  grateful  men.  The  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
men  have  gone  to  both  sides  of  the  conflict, 
there  to  organize  the  work  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
in  the  prison  camps. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  in  America  to  realize 
the  awful  monotony  of  prison  camp  life  even 
at  its  best,  not  to  think  of  it  at  its  worst — 
thousands  and  thousands  of  men,  day  after 
day,  never  able  to  turn  their  eyes  that  they 
do  not  face  crowds,  never  able  to  sleep  that 
they  are  not  touching  the  body  of  another 

109 


OUT  THERE 

man!  \^Tien  they  turn  to  look  outside  the 
prison  camp,  their  eyes  rest  upon  the  guard 
with  the  loaded  rifle  and  glistening  bayonet. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  insanity  is  one  of  the 
elements  that  must  be  fought  against  most 
tenaciously. 

The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Secretaries  have  gone  into 
the  different  prison  camps  to  help  the  pris- 
oners help  themselves.  Lumber  has  been 
taken  in  to  build  Y.  M.  C.  A.  huts.  The  pris- 
oners are  of  all  kinds.  All  that  needs  to  be 
furnished  is  the  material  and  the  prisoners 
will  do  the  work. 

But,  once  the  building  is  up,  the  work  of 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  in  the  prison  camp  is  only 
commenced.  Athletic  equipment  is  provided 
so  that  the  men  can  exercise.  Musical  instru- 
ments have  been  taken  in  with  a  view  of  or- 
ganizing orchestras  and  bands.  Educational 
classes  have  been  formed  in  order  that  the 
prisoners  may  improve  their  minds;  and  in 
many  instances  food  has  been  given  to  thou- 
sands of  men  who  could  not  have  endured  the 
prison  diet.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  men  have  been  enrolled  in  the  educational 

110 


"YE  CAME  UNTO  ME" 

classes.  For  example,  in  one  camp  alone  more 
than  five  thousand  Germans  were  daily  study- 
ing English.  In  many  of  the  prison  camps  a 
full  college  curriculum  has  been  introduced, 
because  among  the  prisoners  are  college  pro- 
fessors who  can  teach  the  classes.  There  are 
many  colleges  in  the  prison  camps  where  the 
attendance  exceeds  the  number  of  students 
enrolled  at  Yale  or  Harvard  Universities. 

Even  though  America  is  at  war,  the  work 
for  prisoners  in  Germany  and  Austria  has 
been  continued  with  the  consent  of  the  Ger- 
man War  Office.  The  American  secretaries 
have  been  withdrawn  and  replaced  by  secre- 
taries from  Sweden,  Switzerland,  Denmark 
and  other  neutral  countries. 

In  one  small  prison  camp  for  officers,  with 
less  than  three  hundred  officers  in  the  camp, 
more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  were  en- 
rolled in  the  following  language  classes: 
French,  Spanish,  ItaHan,  EngHsh  and  Rus- 
sian. 

One  Secretary  writes,  regarding  the  educa- 
tional work: 

"You  cannot  imagine  the  joy  of  the  men 
111 


OUT  THERE 

who  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives  are  able 
to  write  to  their  families.  It  is  like  making 
the  dumb  to  speak." 

The  work  has  been  carried  on  mider  some 
very  difficult  circumstances.  The  following  is 
an  excerpt  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Marshall 
Bartholomew,  one  of  the  American  secretaries 
who,  in  a  most  remarkable  way,  has  carried 
on  the  work  among  the  prisoners  in  Siberia: 

"It  is  simply  impossible  to  describe  the 
penetrating  qualities  of  Siberian  cold.  Yes- 
terday was  thirty-four  below  zero  with  a  high 
wind  and  considerable  snow  and  today  was 
forty-three  below,  but  without  much  wind. 
Last  night,  in  driving  in  from  a  neighboring 
camp,  my  driver  froze  both  cheeks  and  one 
side  of  his  nose,  and  today  my  second  driver 
froze  his  nose  in  a  five-hour  sleigh  ride.  My 
equipment  of  high  felt  boots  with  cork  soles, 
a  fur  coat  and  fur  cap  and  a  fur  rug  keeps 
me  from  reaching  a  point  of  complete  frigid- 
ity, but  it  isn't  the  sort  of  thing  one  would 
choose  for  a  pleasure  jaunt." 

The  work  among  all  the  prisoners  has  been 
carried  on  without  any  thought  being  given  to 

112 


"YE  CAME  UNTO  ME*' 

creed  or  race — Protestants,  Catholics,  Jews, 
Members  of  the  Greek  Church,  Hindoos,  Mo- 
hammedans, and  all  have  carried  on  their  re- 
ligious services  in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  huts. 

Millions  of  men  in  the  prison  camps,  who 
have  been  administered  to  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
representatives,  can  say  from  true  hearts: 

"I  was  sick  and  in  prison  and  ye  came  unto 
me." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"est  the  melting  pot" 

Early  in  the  year  1914  I  was  the  guest 
of  one  of  the  best  known  men  in  Canada.  At 
the  luncheon,  in  addition  to  my  host,  were 
three  other  very  prominent  Canadians.  My 
host  made  the  statement  that  he  could  not 
but  feel  that  the  British  Empire  was  rapidly 
disintegrating,  that  the  ties  which  bound  Can- 
ada to  the  mother  country  were  very  slight 
indeed;  that  Australia  was  rapidly  coming 
to  the  place  where  she  would  be  entirely  out 
of  the  Empire;  that  India  was  restless  and 
caUing  for  home  rule;  and  that  Ireland  was 
rapidly  approaching  a  revolution.  He  closed 
his  discourse  by  stating  that  he  truly  believed 
the  Great  British  Empire  would  go  the  road 
of  the  great  Roman  Empire  in  less  than  a 
year. 

Behold  what  a  change!  Germany  has  in- 
terpreted  such   statements   as   the   above   to 

114 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

mean  that  now  was  the  time  to  make  her  at- 
tempt for  world  supremacy.  To  all  intents 
and  purposes  it  certainly  seemed  that  she  was 
guessing  right.  But  she  did  not  know  the 
true  heart  of  the  Briton. 

No  sooner  had  war  been  declared  than  Can- 
ada, without  waiting  for  the  mother  country, 
had  called  for  volunteers.  Her  troops  were 
on  their  way  to  Europe  almost  over  night. 
Australia  and  New  Zealand  immediately  came 
forward.  India,  to  the  surprise  of  many 
English  statesmen,  offered  her  wealth  and 
men  in  defense  of  the  Empire. 

In  fact,  as  Mr.  Lloyd  George  has  so  well 
stated : 

"The  Germans  have  made  many  miscalcula- 
tions in  this  war,  but  I  think  that  which  must 
have  caused  them  the  most  acute  disappoint- 
ment was  the  spectacle  which  was  seen  when, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  war  there  rallied  round 
this  country  the  armed  contingents,  both 
European  and  native,  from  our  Dominions 
all  over  the  world.  These  people  realized 
with  unerring  instinct  the  nature  of  the  is- 
sues which  were  involved.     They  saw  that  the 

115 


OUT  THERE 

British  Empire  was  in  danger,  and  that  if  it 
perished  there  would  go  with  it  the  guaran- 
tees for  their  own  free  and  contented  exis- 
tence. They  never  minded  that  the  war  was 
thousands  of  miles  away,  and  that  their  coun- 
try was  not  invaded,  and,  indeed,  that  no  por- 
tion of  the  British  Empire  was  invaded.  They 
never  thought  of  the  dangers  that  were  to  be 
encountered  or  the  lives  that  might  be  laid 
down.  From  all  parts  of  the  world  the  great 
greyhounds  came  coursing  across  the  sea 
carrying  to  the  battlefield  the  men  of  many 
races,  religions  and  climes." 

During  the  first  three  years  of  the  war 
Canada  has  sent  something  like  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  men  for  overseas  service; 
Australia  has  sent  some  three  hundred  thou- 
sand; New  Zealand  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand;  South  Africa  fifty  thousand,  and 
Newfoundland  forty  thousand;  while  from 
India  have  been  offered  many  thousands 
more. 

In  spite  of  all  the  German  propaganda  in 
America  to  the  effect  that  England  has  let 
the  Colonies  carry  the  load,  the  Mother  Coun- 

116 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

try  has  contributed  seventy-five  per  cent  of 
the  armies  of  the  Empire. 

In  1915  when  I  went  into  the  great  train- 
ing camps  of  Britain  I  found  that  there  and 
on  the  battlefields  of  Flanders  was  being 
welded  a  greater  and  bigger  Empire  than 
ever  had  been  dreamed  of.  For,  truly  in  the 
great  training  camps  men  were  being  purged 
of  class  distinction,  of  racial  bigotry  and  sec- 
tional selfishness.  In  fact,  there  was  being 
moulded  a  greater  and  truer  democracy. 
Men  of  all  classes  and  walks  in  Hfe  had  rushed 
to  the  colors,  because  Britain  has  produced  the 
greatest  volunteer  army  in  the  history  of  the 
world. 

I  remember  speaking  one  night  to  a  bat- 
tahon  where  every  lad  in  the  camp  had  en- 
listed from  the  public  schools.  That  same 
evening  I  spoke  to  a  battahon  where  every 
man  had  his  own  private  income — ^they  were 
termed  the  "Sportsmen's  Battalion."  In  that 
same  battalion  I  recall  one  man,  a  prominent 
barrister,  who,  as  soon  as  war  was  declared, 
went  forward,  misstating  facts  regarding  his 
age  in  order  to  get  into  the  army;  giving  up 

117 


OUT  THERE 

a  thirty-five-thousand-doUar  income  for  his 
one  bob  a  day  from  the  British  Government. 
And  when  taken  to  task  as  to  why  he  did  not 
go  in  for  a  commission  he  said: 

"I  would  have  you  know  that  I  would  pre- 
fer to  win  my  commission." 

One  Sunday  morning  I  watched  three  thou- 
sand men  file  into  the  old  Cathedral  of  Can- 
terbury. I  saw  them  kneel  as  they  were  led 
in  prayer  at  the  last  religious  service  they 
would  participate  in  before  they  went  out  to 
France  the  next  day.  In  the  evening  I  was 
talking  to  the  man  who  had  conducted  the 
service  that  morning — (Parson  Adams  as  he 
was  referred  to  in  loving  terms  by  his  men)  — 
my  speaking  of  his  service  made  him  look  at 
me  with  surprise  on  his  face  and  say  that  he 
could  not  do  otherwise.  "When  the  war  came 
we  locked  our  home — ^my  wife  went  off  to 
serve  in  a  hospital  in  France,  my  daughter  is 
in  a  hospital  here  in  England — ^my  son  at  the 
Dardanelles — and  I  am  going  off  to  France 
with  the  Brigade.  We  will  not  unlock  our 
home  until  the  war  is  over." 

The  British  Army  has  become  the  melting 
118 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

pot  of  the  Empire,  for  Britain  has  learned 
that  in  order  to  win  the  war  all  personal  de- 
sires must  be  shoved  aside. 

Politicians  had  to  go,  self  seekers  were 
"downed,"  and  real  statesmen  brought  forth. 
Who  would  have  dreamed,  the  latter  part  of 
July,  1914,  that  Mr.  Lloyd  George,  "the 
petty  Welsh  lawyer,"  as  he  was  so  many  times 
referred  to,  would  become  the  great  leader  of 
the  Empire. 

The  war  has  become  the  crucible  of  democ- 
racy. 

Russian  autocracy  has  had  to  go,  and  even 
though  Russia  at  the  present  time  is  strug- 
gling forward  like  a  great,  suddenly  awakened 
giant  who  is  just  beginning  to  find  his 
strength,  she  eventually  will  come  into  her 
own.  She  can  never  go  back  to  what  she 
was  before  the  war. 

We  shall  find  that  the  war  will  do  for 
America  what  it  has  been  doing  for  Britain — 
true  social  democracy  is  bound  to  come  forth. 
For  in  the  camp  the  millionaire  marches  be- 
side the  pauper,  the  university  man  beside  the 
foreigner  who  cannot  speak  a  word  of  Eng- 

119 


OUT  THERE 

lish.  But  all  are  coming  to  a  better  under- 
standing of  one  another. 

One  night  after  I  had  spoken  in  one  of  the 
great  American  training  camps,  men  of  some 
twelve  different  nationalities  came  up  to  shake 
hands  with  me.  These  lads,  when  they  come 
back  from  the  war,  will  no  longer  be  Russians, 
Italians,  French.  They  will  all  come  back 
bigger  and  better  Americans. 

In  the  camps  all  of  them  will  learn  English 
and  have  an  opportunity  for  educational  ad- 
vancement. All  of  them  are  getting  a  better 
understanding  of  what  the  great  American 
Republic  stands  for. 

Those  who  doubt  the  value  of  religion  in 
men's  lives  need  only  visit  the  great  army 
camps,  or  go  up  and  down  the  Western  front. 
The  men  are  constantly  searching  after  the 
deeper  and  bigger  things  of  life. 

I  shall  never  forget  going  one  night  into 
one  of  the  great  training  camps  where  were 
many  of  those  who  were  then  known  as 
"Kitchener's  Mob."  It  was  Sunday  night, 
and  raining  in  torrents.  As  I  came  into  the 
great  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent  where  I  was  to  speak, 

120 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

I  found  it  packed  with  men.  I  decided  that 
the  rain  had  brought  them  in  because  it  was 
practically  the  only  place  in  camp  where  they 
could  get  in  out  of  the  wet.  Not  only  was 
every  bit  of  space  in  the  tent  jammed  with 
men,  but  they  were  sitting  on  the  platform 
and  the  aisles  were  crowded.  They  were 
standing  under  the  eaves  of  the  tent.  It  was 
one  great  mass  of  men. 

The  Secretary  whispered  in  my  ear  saying: 

"Now,  look  out.  You  can't  talk  religion 
to  these  fellows.  They  won't  take  it.  They 
are  dockhands  from  Liverpool.  Practically 
all  of  them  speak  two  languages,  one  is  Eng- 
lish, the  other !" 

Thinking  that  probably  he  was  right  I 
asked : 

"What  shall  I  talk  about?" 

"Talk  about  big  game  hunting  in  the 
jungles."  He  knew  I  had  been  in  India  and 
had  some  experience  in  big  game  hunting. 

The  meeting  began  and  I  commenced  to 
talk  about  big  game  hunting.  The  men  paid 
attention  but  were  not  particularly  interested. 
They  were  on  a  bigger  game  hunt  than  I  had 

121 


OUT  THERE 

ever  dreamed  of.    They  were  hunting  with 
the  bayonet. 

In  the  middle  of  my  address  I  stopped  as  it 
flashed  into  my  mind  that  I  was  missing  it. 
Looking  over  my  audience,  I  stopped  talking 
about  game  shooting  and  started  to  talk  about 
the  biggest  game  hunt  in  the  world — the  hunt 
for  character.  Every  single  man  in  that  great 
tent  came  to  attention.  There  was  not  a  man 
who  left  the  tent  during  my  talk  of  almost  an 
hour.  The  atmosphere  was  absolutely  tense 
with  interest. 

At  the  end  of  the  address  I  asked  the  men 
who  wanted  to  swear  allegiance  to  serve  God 
in  the  best  way  they  could;  to  be  true  to  the 
home  folks;  keep  pure  and  clean,  to  hold  up 
their  hands.  Out  of  the  so-called  "toughest 
regiment  of  the  British  Empire"  over  two 
hundred  and  fifty  men  shot  their  hands  into 
the  air.  They  were,  in  company  with  prac- 
tically all  the  men  in  the  war  zone,  seeking 
after  the  truer  and  deeper  things  of  life. 

After  the  meeting  was  over  they  staged  an 
impromptu  concert,  and  the  men  lined  up  to 
take  their  turns  as  they  danced  jigs  and  sang 

122 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

their  songs.     They  sang  all  the  latest  songs 
to  their  way  of  thinking: 

"Way  Down  upon  the  Swannee  River," 

"My  Old  Kentucky  Home," 
and  many  others  of  the  same  sort. 

To  my  surprise,  when  taps  sounded,  this 
regiment  (which  had  been  lied  about  as  the 
toughest  regiment)  broke  out  with  that  grand 
old  song,  which  I  have  since  heard  on  far 
flung  desert  sands.  I  have  heard  it  on  the 
Western  front;  I  have  heard  the  Americans 
sing  it  in  France  and  the  men  sing  it  in  the 
camps  all  over  this  country. 

"ABIDE    WITH    ME" 

Abide  with  me !    Fast  falls  the  eventide ; 

The  darkness  deepens — Lord,  with  me  abide! 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 

Help  of  the  helpless,  oh,  abide  with  me! 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life's  little  day; 

Earth's  joys  grow  dim,  its  glories  pass  away; 
Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see; 

O  Thou  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me! 

I  need  Thy  presence  ev'ry  passing  hour. 

What  but  Thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter's  pow'r? 

WTio,  like  Thyself,  my  Guide  and  Stay  can  be? 
Thro'  cloud  and  sunshine,  oh,  abide  with  me! 
123 


OUT  THERE 

Hold  thou  Thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes; 

Shine  thro'  the  gloom,  and  point  me  to  the  skies; 
Heav'n's  morning  breaks  and  earth's  vain  shadows 
flee! 

In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me! 

After  three  years  of  going  to  and  coming 
from  these  great  camps  I  have  come  to  realize 
that  the  men  are  looking  for  reality  and  truth. 

The  following  incident  which  took  place  in 
one  of  the  great  camps  of  this  country  illus- 
trates the  spirit  of  the  men.  There  had  come 
from  one  of  the  large  city  churches  a  preacher 
to  speak  to  the  boys  in  the  camp.  During  the 
evening  before  the  meeting  he  was  talking  to 
a  small  group  of  men  and  said: 

"Boys,  I  have  a  sermon  which  I  can  preach 
to  you  tonight,  or  I  can  give  you  a  funny 
lecture.    Which  shall  it  be?" 

One  deep-chested  sergeant  spoke  up  and 
said: 

"If  you,  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  have 
come  a  thousand  miles  to  speak  in  this  camp 
and  you  don't  know  whether  to  give  a  sermon 
or  a  funny  lecture,  I  think  you  had  better  give 
a  funny  lecture." 

124 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

Shortly  after  the  Officers'  Reserve  camps 
had  been  organized  in  this  country  I  was 
speaking  in  one  of  them.  At  the  close  of  the 
meeting  I  stated  that  possibly  there  were 
some  men  in  the  camp  who  had  not  been  liv- 
ing as  true  a  Christian  hfe  as  they  knew  they 
ought  to  lead,  and  that,  realizing  the  task 
which  was  ahead  of  them  and  the  obligations 
which  would  be  upon  them,  possibly  some 
would  like  to  say  by  the  holding  up  of  their 
hands,  "from  now  on  I  am  going  to  lead  the 
truest  Christian  life  I  know  how." 

The  building  was  jammed  and  scores  of 
men  were  standing  outside.  One  young  uni- 
versity lad  who  could  not  get  into  the  tent 
called  out  as  I  ceased  speaking: 

"Here  I  am.  You  can't  see  me,  but  you 
can  count  me  in." 

No  one  laughed,  because  the  men  in  the 
camps  have  come  to  have  a  true  appreciation 
of  reality  and  frankness. 

At  the  front  I  found  no  group  of  men  who 
are  loved  more  than  the  chaplains  who  have 
shown  themselves  to  be  real  men.  For  at  the 
front  the  men  are  not  asking  of  the  padre 

125 


OUT  THERE 

what  university  degrees  he  has  or  what  theo- 
logical seminary  he  graduated  from  or  what 
church  he  occupied  in  civil  life.  Instead  they 
are  asking: 

"Does  he  stick  it?" 

"Is  he  real?" 

"Does  he  have  a  message  that  will  help  us?" 

"When  the  regiment  goes  into  the  front 
lines  does  he  have  work  that  keeps  him  back 
at  headquarters,  or  does  he  go  in  with  the  regi- 
ment?" 

The  men  are  not  particularly  interested  in 
theological  questions,  but  they  are  deeply  in- 
terested in  a  man's  relation  to  His  God.  They 
always  ask  to  hear  any  man  who  has  a  mes- 
sage that  will  help  them  to  "carry  on"  when  the 
day's  work  takes  them  on  to  the  borders  of 
No  Man's  Land. 

After  the  war  there  will  be  two  classes  of 
people.  Those  who  helped  win  the  war  and 
those  who  did  not. 

The  majority  of  the  men  who  are  in  the  war 
and  come  back  will  come  back  bigger  and 
most  of  them  better  men,  because  at  the  battle 
front  the  men  are  coming  into  a  better  in- 

126 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

terpretation  of  the  brotherhood  of  men  and 
the  fatherhood  of  God. 

Men  who  are  marching  together,  eating  to- 
gether, sleeping  together,  going  forward  to 
fight,  and  perhaps  to  die  together,  are  saying 
"why  should  we  not  worship  together?" 

The  greater  test  is  coming,  not  to  the  man 
at  the  front,  but  to  those  back  home  who  stand 
by  and  criticize  because  the  Government  has 
not  done  this  and  that;  to  those  who  are 
criticizing  the  boys  because  they  are  doing 
some  things  which  they  would  not  like  to  have 
them  do.  For  example — I  think  of  the  great 
Edinburgh  preacher.  Dr.  John  Kelman,  who 
told  me  that  on  coming  back  from  one  of  his 
trips  to  the  front,  a  kind-hearted  elderly  lady 
came  up  to  him  and  said: 

"Dr.  Kelman,  is  it  true  that  the  boys  smoke 
out  in  France?" 

Dr.  Kelman  replied: 

"Yes,  my  good  lady,  that's  true." 

"Dr.  Kelman,  is  it  true  they  give  them  to- 
bacco in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  at  the  front?" 

"Yes,  that's  true,  too." 

Again  she  asked  him: 
127 


OUT  THERE 

"Dr.  Kelman,  is  it  possible  that  some  of 
the  boys  at  the  front  swear?" 

Dr.  Kehnan,  having  seen  at  the  front  what 
I  have  seen,  and  many  another  man  has  seen 
— men  swearing  in  one  breath  and  praying  in 
the  next,  not  realizing  that  they  are  swearing, 
but  under  the  tense  atmosphere  of  that  awful 
front  line,  looking  at  her  said: 

"Yes —  some  of  the  boys  swear  out  in 
France — ,  and  my  good  lady,  I  am  not  sure 
but  that  you  would  swear  if  you  were  out 
there." 

After  standing  at  the  front  and  seeing  men 
come  back  with  shattered  and  wrecked  bodies, 
asking  for  a  smoke  before  they  ask  to  have 
their  wounds  tied  up,  I  have  come  to  realize 
that  those  who  stay  at  home  and  criticize 
would  probably  change  their  minds  if  they 
could  spend  just  five  minutes  on  the  edge  of 
No  Man's  Land  after  a  battle. 

The  boys  out  there  are  giving  all  they  have 
to  give  and  are  doing  it  willingly  and  without 
complaint.  I  cannot  but  think  of  their  gifts 
alongside  some  of  the  gifts  which  are  made 
by  some  people  back  in  this  country.    I  am 

128 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

not  forgetting  the  sacrifice  that  has  been  in- 
volved in  the  large  amount  of  money  given 
to  the  Red  Cross,  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  in  the 
purchase  of  Liberty  Loan  Bonds,  but  at  the 
same  time  I  am  thinking  of  the  gifts  of  some 
people  alongside  the  gifts  of  the  lads  out 
there. 

After  speaking  one  afternoon  on  behalf  of 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  at  a  very  well-known  home 
in  one  of  the  Eastern  cities,  a  lady  of  great 
wealth  came  up  and  said: 

"You  will  never  know  what  the  Y.  M.  C.  A'. 
has  meant  to  my  boy." 

Tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  Around  her  neck 
was  twined  a  string  of  magnificent  pearls. 
My  son  says: 

'It  would  be  almost  hell  if  it  were  not  for 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  It  is  the  one  bright  spot  in 
camp." 

"And  you  know  I  want  to  make  a  gift  to 
help  carry  forward  this  work." 

As  she  left  the  room  this  woman  who,  if 
she  meant  what  she  said,  could  have  given 
thousands,  left  in  an  envelope  a  five-dollar 

bill  as  a  testimonial  of  her  sacrifice. 

129 


OUT  THERE 

Alongside  of  her  gift  I  think  of  an  old 
negro  butler  who  came  into  the  headquarters 
of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  in  one  of  the  cities  during 
the  campaign,  and  said  to  the  Secretary: 

"Mister,  I  want  to  make  a  contribution  to 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  They  turned  me  down  for 
the  army,  but  I  want  to  do  something  for  the 
other  boys  who  are  going,  and  all  the  money 
I  have  in  the  world  is  this  check  for  my  week's 
wages,  but  I  want  you  to  take  it  as  my  con- 
tribution. And  I  want  you  to  know  that  as 
long  as  this  war  lasts,  out  of  my  nine  dollars  a 
week,  I  am  going  to  give  five  dollars  a  month 
to  help  carry  on  the  work  for  the  other  boys." 

His  was  a  real  gift,  for  truly  it  is  not  what 
we  give,  but  what  we  share. 

Eut,  out  of  this  great  melting  pot  is  going 
to  come  a  newer  and  greater  conception  of  un- 
selfish service  and  sacrifice.  Those  who  can- 
not go  must  give  and  share  with  those  who 
do  go.  This  is  not  a  war  of  the  few.  It  is 
the  war  of  every  true  man  and  woman,  every 
boy  and  girl,  who  call  themselves  Americans. 
We  have  all  got  to  keep  on  giving  and  giving, 
not  only  of  our  money  but  of  ourselves.    Ours 

130 


"IN  THE  MELTING  POT" 

must  be  the  spirit  of  the  boys  out  there.  Who 
ever  heard  of  a  lad  coming  forward  to  his 
Captain  and  saying: 

"I  can't  go  'over  the  top'  tomorrow  morn- 
ing. I  went  over  a  couple  of  weeks  ago  and 
I  have  done  my  bit." 

No,  it  does  not  work  that  way.  He  goes 
"over  the  top"  and  he  keeps  going  over  until  at 
last  he  makes  the  great  sacrifice  or  comes  back 
out  of  the  line  unfit  for  service. 


CHAPTER   IX 


*rEANCE   CANNOT  DIE" 


Is  France  bleeding  white? 

Yes,  if  you  mean  France  has  sacrificed  on 
the  field  of  honor  the  youth  and  flower  of 
her  nation.  The  finest  and  best  that  France 
has  has  gone  forth  to  fight  and  die  for  her. 
Already  she  has  laid  on  the  altar  of  Liberty 
a  million  of  her  sons.  In  addition  to  this, 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  her  men  have  come 
back  with  wounds  which  have  made  of  them 
physical  wrecks.  Three  long  and  terrible 
years  of  war  have  drained  the  man  power 
of  France. 

In  1915  I  went  over  the  battlefield  of  the 
Marne.  There  I  was  reminded  in  an  unfor- 
gettable way  of  the  words  of  General  Joffre: 
"We  will  stop  on  the  Marne." 

In  those  first  awful  days  of  the  war  irre- 
sistible German  hordes  swept  through  Bel- 
gium, leaving  destruction  and  death  in  their 
wake,  barbaric  hordes  laying  waste  all  that 

13£ 


"FRANCE  CANNOT  DIE" 

they  came  in  touch  with.  As  they  came  on 
like  a  great  torrent  it  seemed  nothing  could 
save  Paris, 

But  in  their  path  stood  the  Httle  "con- 
temptible British  Army"  which  knew  how  to 
die,  but  did  not  know  how  to  surrender.  In 
their  way  stood  the  fathers,  husbands  and 
brothers  of  France,  who  were  fighting  not 
for  honor  and  not  for  glory,  but  for  their 
homes,  their  women,  their  little  helpless  chil- 
dren, in  fact  for  all  that  we  hold  sacred  and 
dear.  General  Joffre,  with  great  strategy, 
had  held  part  of  his  forces  in  reserve  and 
said  to  his  armies,  "We  will  stop  on  the 
Marne."  Yes,  they  stopped  on  the  Marne, 
there  to  lay  down  all  if  necessary,  but  never 
to  surrender. 

I  went  over  many  of  those  fields  of  battle. 
Many  times,  walking  over  ground  where  my 
feet  were  constantly  touching  graves,  I 
looked  upon  those  forests  of  little  crosses, 
the  white  crosses  marking  the  graves  of  the 
French,  the  black  crosses  marking  the  Ger- 
man graves. 

Then  for  the  first  time  I  realized  what  it 
133 


OUT  THERE 

meant  to  France  to  stop  Germany  on  the 
Marne. 

The  last  Sunday  of  September,  1917,  I 
went  into  the  City  of  Verdun.  It  was  a  quiet 
day.  They  were  not  "strafing"  the  city. 
There  were  no  soldiers  on  the  streets,  only 
in  the  cellars  under  the  buildings  were  men. 
But  no  one  can  reahze  the  awful  destruction 
of  that  once  beautiful  city  unless  their  eyes 
have  rested  upon  it.  Practically  every  room 
in  every  house  has  been  hit  by  shells  and 
virtually  hammered  to  pieces.  Streets  have 
been  obliterated,  beautiful  homes  have  be- 
come mere  piles  of  bricks  and  stones.  Shade 
trees  have  become  old  snags.  Devastation 
and  destruction  are  on  every  hand. 

Dreadful  and  terrible  as  has  been  the  ma- 
terial cost,  it  fades  into  insignificance  com- 
pared with  the  human  cost.  One  cannot  for- 
get the  thousands  of  little  graves,  the  acres 
of  them,  scattered  on  the  hillsides  around 
Verdun. 

Down  into  the  ages  will  ring  those  immor- 
tal words,  "They  shall  not  pass,"  and  they 
did  not  pass. 

134 


"FRANCE  CANNOT  DIE" 

But  in  stopping  Germany  en  the  Marne 
and  holding  Verdun,  the  key  to  Paris,  France 
has  sacrificed  the  best  she  has.  If  we  mean 
the  cost  in  human  hfe,  then  I  say  France  is 
bleeding  white. 

Is  France  bleeding  white? 

Yes,  if  we  mean  from  a  purely  material 
standpoint.  Her  finest  coal  fields  have  been 
captured,  her  most  productive  vineyards 
taken.  The  people  of  Northern  France  have 
been  either  driven  forth  from  their  homes  by 
the  Boche  or  starved  and  treated  worse  than 
dogs. 

The  people  of  France  have  poured  in  their 
money  to  carry  forward  the  war.  They  have 
gone  without  many  of  the  necessities  of  hfe. 
They  have  gone  forward  in  spite  of  a  short- 
age of  food  and  of  coal. 

They  have  given  up  their  motor  cars,  for 
you  will  find  no  more  pleasure  cars  in  France 
today. 

They  have  cheerfully  taken  the  order 
"only  one  hot  bath  a  week  in  order  to  save 
coal." 

France  has  paid  a  tremendous  price. 
135 


OUT  THERE 

In  going  through  the  villages  into  the 
country  one  never  sees  men  of  military  age, 
physically  fit,  not  in  uniform — only  the  old 
men  and  the  boys. 

One  evening,  going  by  motor  car  out  to 
one  of  the  great  base  camps  where  the  sol- 
diers belonged  to  the  youngest  class  that 
had  been  called  to  the  colors,  I  said  to  my 
French  friend: 

"Your  coimtry  has  paid  an  awful  price  in 
this  war." 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time.  I  pre- 
sume he  was  thinking  of  the  price  his  own 
family  had  paid.  At  last  he  very  quietly 
replied : 

"Yes,  we  have  paid  an  awful  price.  If 
you  were  to  put  crepe  on  every  door  where 
they  have  lost  a  loved  one,  the  door  of  prac- 
tically every  house  in  France  would  carry 
crepe." 

Is  France  bleeding  white? 

No,  and  never  will  she  bleed  white.  If 
you  mean  the  spirit  of  France  is  broken;  if 
you  mean  she  is  at  the  breaking  point ;  France 
is   determined   to    see   it   through.      For   the 

136 


"FRANCE  CANNOT  DIE" 

people  have  come  to  realize  that  death  is  to 
be  preferred  to  defeat.  She  will  go  on,  and 
on,  giving  and  sacrificing.  But  she  will  never 
give  in,  even  though  all  her  sons  are  laid  on 
the  altar. 

The  editor  of  Le  Matin  summed  it  all  up 
when  he  said: 

"France  sees  the  path  in  which  she  must 
go  and  she  is  willing  to  walk  in  that  path 
wherever  it  may  lead.  The  path  may  lead 
to  suffering  greater  than  France  has  yet 
known;  or  it  may  lead  to  death.  It  will  not 
lead  to  servitude  and  dishonor." 

One  afternoon,  as  the  guest  of  the  Ameri- 
can Ambassador,  the  Hon.  William  Sharpe, 
who  in  such  a  splendid  sympathetic  way  has 
been  looking  after  our  affairs  in  France,  I 
went  to  the  opening  of  a  great  hospital.  It 
was  a  hospital  which  was  to  be  devoted  to 
the  education  of  the  permanently  maimed, 
who  were  out  of  the  game  and  must  now  go 
back  into  civil  life,  no  longer  able  to  do  the 
work  they  had  been  doing  before  the  war. 
I  said  opening,  but  that  afternoon  there  gath- 
ered into  that  large  ward  hundreds  of  men 

137 


OUT  THERE 

who  were  already  in  the  hospital.  Every 
single  ward  was  full  of  men  long  before  the 
official  opening,  all  of  them  maimed  for  life, 
an  arm  or  a  leg  gone.  Here  they  were  to 
be  taught  new  trades  by  which  they  could 
earn  their  daily  bread. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  there  stood 
on  the  platform  one  of  the  great  opera  sing- 
ers of  France  in  the  uniform  of  a  private. 
As  he  started  to  sing  the  "Marseillaise,"  I 
turned  and  looked  over  that  great  ward. 
Every  man  who  could  come  to  his  feet  or 
foot  was  standing  at  attention.  Here  was 
one  helping  up  a  man  next  to  him  who  had 
only   one   leg.     As   the   singer  went   on  to 

sing: 

"March  on,  March  on," 
"All  hearts  resolved  on  victory  or  death," 

a  great  sob  crept  over  the  whole  room. 
Every  man  who  had  faced  the  German  bul- 
lets cried  like  a  little  child. 

No,  France  is  not  dying — she  may  be 
bleeding  white,  but  France  cannot  die.  Rich- 
ard Butler  Glaenzer,  in  his  poem,  "Vive  La 
France,"  tells  the  story: 

138 


"FRANCE  CANNOT  DIE'* 

If  France  is  dying,  she  dies  as  day, 
In  the  splendor  of  noon,  sim-aureoled. 

If  France  is  dying,  then  youth  is  gray 
And  steel  is  soft  and  flame  is  cold. 

France  cannot  die!    France  cannot  die! 

If  France  Is  dying,  she  dies  as  love 

When  a  mother  dreams  of  her  child-to-be. 

If  France  is  dying,  then  God  above 
Died  with  His  Son  upon  the  Tree. 

France  cannot  die!    France  cannot  die! 

If  France  is  dying,  true  manhood  dies. 
Freedom  and  justice,  all  golden  things. 

If  France  is  dying,  then  life  were  wise 

To  borrow  of  death  such  immortal  wings, 

France  cannot  die!    France  cannot  die! 


CHAPTER   X 

LONDON — PARIS 

"Take  cover!"  an  English  policeman  was 
shouting  as  he  came  rushing  into  Piccadilly 
Circus  on  his  motorcycle. 

Immediately  everyone  rushed  into  nearby 
buildings.  Within  ten  minutes  the  streets, 
which  had  been  crowded  with  people  and 
motor  busses  coming  and  going,  were  abso- 
lutely clear — as  clear  from  human  life  as  a 
country  churchyard  at  midnight. 

The  Boche  planes  were  coming  towards 
London  and  word  had  been  sent  on  in  ad- 
vance to  clear  the  streets. 

Some  fifteen  minutes  later  staid  old  Lon- 
don was  being  shaken  by  the  roar  of  the 
(Scores  of  anti-aircraft  guns  that  were  Bring 
their  shrapnel,  creating  a  mass  of  bursting 
shells  two  to  three  miles  up  in  the  air  over 
the  city.  By  this  firing  they  were  keeping 
the  German  planes  from  getting  down  near 

140 


LONDON— PARIS 

enough  to  the  groimd  to  see  where  they 
should  drop  their  bombs. 

As  the  pohceman  called  out  his  order, 
*'Take  cover,"  there  was  no  screaming  or 
going  into  hysterics.  Everyone  quickly  and 
quietly  rushed  into  the  nearby  buildings.  The 
hundreds  of  women  and  children  who  had 
been  standing  outside  the  entrances  to  the 
London  Undergroimd  had  been  admitted  so 
as  to  get  out  from  under  the  rain  of  shrap- 
nel— not  from  the  German  planes,  but  from 
the  British  anti-aircraft  guns  fii'ing  into  the 
^ir.  For,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  although  they 
have  made  scores  of  attempts  on  London, 
the  actual  damage  done  by  these  raiding  Ger- 
man planes  has  been  slight. 

As  I  stood  in  the  entrance  to  one  of  the 
buildings,  watching  the  women  and  chil- 
dren crowding  into  the  Underground — here 
a  woman  with  her  four  or  five  little  children 
clinging  to  her  skirts  and  an  infant  in  her 
arms — here  an  aged  couple — here  little  news- 
Jboys — all  quiet  and  calm,  I  could  not  help 
but  wonder  what  would  happen  in  New  York 
if   some   evening   a   pohceman   should   rush 

141 


OUT  THERE 

down  the  street  calling  out  to  the  crowds, 
"Take  cover,  the  German  planes  are  com- 
ing." Would  New  York  take  the  news  in 
the  same  quiet  and  calm  way  London  does? 

After  some  two  hours  the  policeman  again 
comes  down  tlu'ough  the  empty  streets,  call- 
(ing  out: 

"All's  well.  The  Boche  planes  have  been 
driven  away." 

What  great  rejoicing  there  would  be  to- 
morrow morning  in  Berlin  when  the  news- 
papers carried  the  report  that  London  had 
once  more  been  bombed — the  glorious  news 
that  a  few  helpless  little  school  children  had 
been  blown  to  pieces  or  a  few  women  killed! 
No  material  damage  whatever  accomplished, 
but  our  enemy  is  one  who  rejoices  at  the 
death  of  innocent  women  and  little  children. 

Spending  the  night  in  the  home  of  one  of 
my  very  dear  friends  in  London,  I  went  in 
to  kiss  his  two  little  kiddies  goodnight.  At 
the  head  of  their  bed  they  had  hung  their 
little  kit  bags,  with  cakes  of  chocolate  and 
biscuits  and  a  canteen  of  water,  for  their 
father  and  mother  had  taught  them  to  look 

142 


LONDON— PARIS 

upon  the  air  raids  as  a  sort  of  lark,  when  they 
would  go  to  the  basement  as  soldiers  go  to 
the  dugouts. 

It  is  truly  remarkable  the  way  our  Anglo- 
Saxon  brothers  can  make  the  best  of  all 
circumstances. 

Imagine,  you  who  live  in  the  inland  cities 
of  America,  retiring  at  night,  not  knowing 
at  what  moment  you  would  have  to  rush  out 
of  bed  and  to  the  basement  with  your  little 
children. 

At  the  same  time  bear  in  mind  that  the 
only  reason  your  homes  have  not  been  invaded 
is  because,  standing  between  America  and  the 
wretched  Hun  are  the  great  British  and 
French  Armies  on  the  Western  Front  and 
the  great  British  Fleets  which  have  swept 
the  seas  and  kept  back  from  our  door  the 
enemy  who  glories  in  the  death  of  the  inno- 
cent and  the  helpless.  Lying  in  my  bed  one 
night  in  London  I  counted,  inside  of  five 
minutes,  the  firing  of  one  hundred  and  twenty 
anti-aircraft  guns. 

In  London  all  the  great  hotels  are  being 
run  by  women.    There  are  no  longer  elevator 

143 


OUT  THERE 

boys — there  are  elevator  girls.  Women  run- 
ning the  Underground,  running  the  busses, 
working  in  the  great  munition  plants,  in 
order  that  the  men  may  go  off  to  the  front 
to  fight.  Truly  the  whole  nation  is  at  war. 
But  in  the  midst  of  it  all  I  found  no  spirit 
of  discouragement.  On  the  contrary,  I  found 
^  spirit  of  determination,  a  wiUingness  to 
make  whatever  sacrifices  are  necessary  to  win 
the  war. 

Practically  the  only  danger  in  London 
from  the  air  raids  is  the  falling  of  the  shrapnel 
from  the  anti-aircraft  guns.  The  bombs  have 
done  very  little  damage.  Fortunately  a  num- 
ber of  the  bombs  dropped  have  been  "dud" 
bombs.  I  recall  standing  in  the  entrance  to 
a  theatre  near  one  of  the  most  prominent 
corners  in  London  when  a  great  German 
bomb  was  dropped  which  did  not  go  off.  It 
has  been  very  remarkable  how  little  actual 
damage  has  been  accomplished  by  the  raiders. 

Many  times  since  I  have  returned  to  Amer- 
ica I  have  been  asked  the  question: 

"Why   do   not   the   British   airplanes   re- 

tahate?'* 

144 


LONDON— PARIS 

For  the  simple  reason  that  the  Alhes  are 
not  carrying  on  a  war  of  retaliation.  The 
killing  of  women  and  little  children  in  Ger- 
many is  not  going  to  end  the  war.  Britain 
and  France  have  developed  their  wonderful 
airplane  service  for  the  work  at  the  front, 
and  not  for  destroying  the  unprotected  and 
noncombatants  back  of  the  hne. 

At  the  front  I  found  that,  without  ques- 
tion, the  Allied  planes  are  the  superior  of 
the  Boche  machines,  this  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  in  August,  1914,  Britain  had  sixty-six 
machines  and  one  hundred  officers,  whereas 
today  she  has  a  great  fleet  of  thousands  and 
thousands  of  machines,  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  men. 

It  is  in  Paris  that  one  sees  and  feels  the 
great  throbbing  heart  of  the  Alhes.  The 
streets  are  crowded  with  men  coming  from 
and  going  to  the  war.  It  is  here  we  find 
the  Allied  soldiers  of  all  descriptions.  It  is 
a  rare  sight  to  see  a  man  on  the  streets  of 
Paris  not  in  uniform. 

No  great,  gaudy  show,  such  as  we  see  in 
New  York;  no  luxurious  motor  cars  are  here; 

U5 


OUT  THERE 

no  elaborate  dining  out,  no  white  bread  on 
the  table — only  war  bread.  There  was  no 
butter  and  practically  no  sugar. 

What  a  comparison  New  York  makes  with 
London  and  Paris,  where  all  lights  are  gone. 
Through  the  darkened  streets  you  hear  the 
constant  tooting  of  the  taxicabs,  but  every- 
thing is  in  darkness. 

New  York  with  thousands  of  cars  going 
and  coming,  London  and  Paris  without  a 
single  pleasure  car! 

On  the  streets  of  New  York  there  are  a 
few  score  of  imiformed  men.  In  London 
and  Paris  there  are  thousands  and  thousands 
of  uniformed  men,  and  hundreds  of  wounded 
men. 

In  Paris,  practically  all  hotels  are  closed 
and  turned  over  into  hospitals.  Everyone  is 
busy — in  some  way  connected  with  the  war. 

In  London,  in  all  the  great  parks  and  pub- 
lic squares  will  be  found  Y.  M.  C.  A.  or  other 
rest  huts  for  the  accommodation  of  the  soldiers. 

Paris  and  London  have  domesticated  the 
war. 


CHAPTER   XI 

"at  the  war  with  the  Yankees" 

"Say,  got  the  'makings'?" 
"Sure,  here  is  some  Bull  Durham." 
It  was  early  morning.  We  had  gotten 
off  the  train  at  a  little  French  railway  sta- 
tion to  get  a  cup  of  coffee.  We  had  landed 
at  two  o'clock  that  morning  and  were  on  our 
way  to  Paris.  Knowing  what  to  expect,  we 
had  prepared  for  just  such  an  emergency. 
As  they  rolled  their  "makings"  and  went 
puffing  off  down  the  railroad  platform,  we 
realized  that  at  last  America  was  in  the  world 
war. 

As  we  were  waiting  for  the  train  to  pull 
out,  the  Yankee  lads  gathered  around,  all 
of  them  bubbling  over  with  questions  about 
home. 

None  of  them  waited  for  us  to  answer  their 
questions.  But  they  are  all  happy  and  cheer- 
ful as  they  ply  us  with  questions,  and  above 
all  the  big  question: 

"How  soon  is  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  going  to 
147 


OUT  THERE 

get  us  plenty  of  American  tobacco?  We 
don't  like  this  French  stuff." 

Later,  as  we  went  through  the  country 
where  the  Yankees  were  in  camp,  we  found 
them  all  cheerful,  working  like  Trojans,  for 
had  not  they  had  the  honor  of  being  in  the 
First  Contingent  of  American  troops  that 
went  to  France? 

They  were  billeted — not  in  great  com- 
fortable barracks,  such  as  we  have  provided 
for  the  men  in  this  country.  They  were  bil- 
leted in  little  villages,  a  few  hundred  here 
and  a  few  hundred  there,  living  in  barns, 
haymows,  stables,  or  cow  sheds,  lads  who 
less  than  a  year  ago  were  hving  back  home 
in  comfortable  farm  houses,  fraternity  houses, 
club  houses,  and  having  the  best  America 
could  afford. 

In  many  of  these  httle  villages  the  en- 
trance to  the  house  and  the  entrance  to  the 
stable  open  on  the  same  street,  as  they  are 
always  under  the  same  roof.  Between  them 
is  generally  placed  the  manure  pile,  which 
isn't  especially  decorative. 

All  the  Yankees  are  picking  up  a  smat- 
148 


"WITH  THE  YANKEES" 

tering  of  French,  and  in  answer  to  your 
questions,  it  is  no  longer,  "Oui,  oui.  Mon- 
sieur!" but,  with  a  keen  sense  of  humor, 
"We,  we,  manure!" 

We  find  that  our  new  army  is  indeed  a 
democratic  army,  consisting  of  men  and  boys 
from  all  walks  of  life.  But  aU  of  them  are 
now  bound  together,  not  by  mihtary  dis- 
cipline alone,  but  by  a  common  purpose; 
everyone  determined  to  do  his  share  in  help- 
ing to  win  the  war,  to  make  "The  world  safe 
for  Democracy." 

It  is  a  marvelous  thing,  the  way  our  lads 
are  sticking  it  out  there.  Of  course,  a  good 
many  of  them  are  cold  and  wet,  and  not  ac- 
customed to  that  sort  of  life,  but  I  heard  less 
growling  all  the  time  I  was  in  those  Amer- 
ican camps  than  I  would  have  heard  in  any 
fraternity  or  club  house  back  here  in  one  day. 

One  night,  on  my  way  to  the  French  front, 
we  arrived  at  a  camp  of  American  engineers. 
They  were  helping  to  run  one  of  the  impor- 
tant railroads  that  feeds  the  front  line.  As 
I  walked  across  the  camp  toward  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  tent,  one  chap  called  out: 

149 


OUT  THERE 

"Say,  boys,  here  are  some  new  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
men." 

We  went  over  to  where  he  was  helping 
wash  up  the  dishes  after  the  evening  meal. 
Finding  out  we  had  not  eaten,  all  the  chaps 
in  the  barracks  came  rolling  out  to  see  that 
we  were  fed.  From  all  over  they  came  with 
their  mess  kits,  wanting  to  do  something 
for  us. 

Later  we  gathered  in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent 
for  a  "sing-song"  and  religious  meeting. 
Just  as  I  started  to  speak,  for  it  was  a 
moonhght  night,  a  Boche  machine  came  over, 
trying  to  drop  bombs  on  the  camp.  As  the 
anti-aircraft  guns  began  to  crack,  one  chap 
turned  oif  the  lights  and  I  went  on  talking. 
Not  a  man  left  the  tent  to  watch  the  show 
outside.  In  fact  there  was  less  attention 
paid  to  the  Boche  than  I  have  seen  given  to 
a  late  comer  at  a  Sunday  morning  service 
back  home.  After  the  meeting  was  over  the 
secretary  called  out: 

"Some  of  you  fellows  may  be  going  up 
the  line  tonight.     I  wonder  if  we  could  use 

your  bunks?" 

150 


"WITH  THE  YANKEES'* 

Of  course,  only  a  few  of  the  men  were  going 
up  the  line,  but  every  chap  in  the  tent  called 
out: 

"They  can  have  my  bunk." 

No  lack  of  hospitality  there.  However, 
the  Colonel  insisted  on  fixing  us  up  at  Head- 
quarters. 

These  were  the  railroad  men.  One  cap- 
tain, who  had  taken  me  especially  under  his 
wing — a  fine  type  of  man,  and  one  who  held 
an  important  railroad  position  in  this  coun- 
try— said  to  a  sergeant  who  had  been  in  the 
same  office  with  liim  back  here: 

"Bill,  what  did  you  do  with  my  lantern?" 

The  sergeant  replied: 

"That  wasn't  your  lantern!"  (A  little  dif- 
ferent from  the  reply  he  would  have  made  if 
he  had  lived  in  a  British  camp.) 

"That  was  my  lantern." 

"That  was  not  your  lantern." 

My  friend,  the  captain,  forgetting  that  he 
was  entertaining  a  secretary,  said: 

"Damn  it,  that  *was  my  lantern!" 

"You  might  as  well  keep  yom'  shirt  on;  it 
was  not  your  lantern." 

151 


OUT  THERE 

"It  was  my  lantern,"  replied  the  captain, 
**and  I  am  going  to  have  it!" 

"Well,"  replied  the  sergeant,  "if  you  want 
it,  go  get  it." 

And  the  strange  thing  was  that  the  cap- 
tain went  and  got  it. 

In  talking  with  the  colonel,  an  old  West 
Point  man,  afterwards,  I  said: 

"It  must  be  a  remarkable  pleasure  for  you 
to  command  these  men." 

"I  never  commanded  a  group  of  men  where 
it  was  such  a  joy  as  this." 

"Of  course,  discipline  is  your  smallest  ques- 
tion," I  remarked,  jokingly. 

"No,  that  is  my  biggest  question.  I  have 
to  not  see  a  good  many  things  over  here.  I 
realize  that  these  men  did  not  come  to  be 
soldiers  as  much  as  they  came  over  to  help 
win  this  war,  and  I  am  closing  my  eyes  to 
a  good  many  things.  Yet  we,  of  course, 
have  to  have  discipline." 

The  discipline  m  the  American  army  is 
more  like  that  in  the  Australian  and  Cana- 
dian armies  than  in  the  English.  There  is  a 
certain    freedom    and    imderstanding    which 

152 


At  Home  and  Happy  Out  Tliere 


its  Not  All  Drill,  Drill,  Drill  Over  rh«M-e 


"WITH  THE  YANKEES" 

seems  to  exist  between  the  Colonial  officers 
and  their  men,  far  more  marked  than  with 
the  English  officers. 

In  this  connection  one  of  the  most  essential 
things  in  the  training  of  men  is  that  ever- 
lasting drill,  drill,  drill,  day  after  day,  and 
day  after  day,  not  merely  so  that  one  man 
can  have  the  ascendancy  over  the  other  men, 
but  because  when  they  go  into  the  line  and 
over  the  top  the  Hfe  of  every  single  man 
hangs  in  the  hands  of  his  officer. 

The  Australians  and  the  Canadians,  by 
bitter  experience,  have  learned  that  discipline 
is  one  of  the  fundamental  laws  of  soldiery. 
For  example,  if  the  men  are  ordered  to  go 
"over  the  top"  and  take  a  certain  objective, 
they  must  take  that  point,  go  that  far  and 
no  farther — no  matter  how  easy  it  may  seem 
to  go  on.  If  they  do  go  on,  they  are  likely 
to  go  under  the  fire  from  their  own  guns. 
Hence,  absolute  disciphne  is  the  only  rule 
that  can  possibly  work  in  war. 

Taking  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation at  its  word,  that  it  wanted  to  serve 
the  soldier  from  the  time  he  left  home  until 

155 


OUT  THERE 

he  went  to  the  front  Hne  trench,  and  finally 
back  to  his  home,  if  God  granted  that  he 
should  come  back,  General  Pershing  turned 
over  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  the  responsibility  for 
the  amusement  and  recreation  of  the  troops 
by  means  of  its  usual  program  of  social,  edu- 
cational, physical  and  religious  activities. 

In  addition  to  this.  General  Pershing  has 
committed  to  the  Association  the  conducting 
and  administrating  of  the  canteen  in  all  the 
camps  in  France  in  order  that  officers  and 
enlisted  men  may  not  be  taken  away  for  that 
purpose  from  their  permanent  military  func- 
tions of  training  and  fighting. 

That  is  American  efficiency. 

The  day  before  I  left  France  I  called  at 
the  American  headquarters  to  tell  General 
Pershing  of  the  coming  thirty-five-miUion- 
dollar  campaign  which  was  to  be  waged  in 
the  States  for  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  war  work. 
He  went  over  the  matter  very  carefully, 
speaking  in  very  high  prais^  of  the  work. 
The  next  day  he  sent  off  the  following  mes- 
sage to  the  General  Secretary  of  the  Ameri- 
can Association  in  France,  Mr.  Carter,  with 

156 


"WITH  THE  YANKEES" 

instructions  to  forward  it  to  Dr.  Mott,  the 
General  Secretary  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.: 

SIGNAL   CORPS— UNITED    STATES    ARMY 

Telegram 

"Headquarters    American    Expeditionary    Forces — 
France. 

September  twenty-sixth. 

The  work  now  being  done  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  for 
the  comfort  and  entertainment  of  our  soldiers  in 
France  is  very  important.  As  an  organization  its 
moral  influence  is  highly  beneficial.  It  performs  a 
real  service  that  makes  for  contentment.  The 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  has  won  its  place  by  unselfish  personal 
devotion  to  the  soldier's  welfare  and  deserves  staunch 
support  by  our  people  at  home. 

Pershing." 

When  we  recall  the  work  of  the  British 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  at  the  front  and  down  the  path 
of  the  walking  wounded,  we  begin  to  realize 
the  far-reaching  importance  of  the  follow-* 
ing,  which  is  quoted  from  the  order  handing 
over  the  canteens  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.: 

"The  establishment  of  these  exchanges 
should  not  be  limited  to  the  areas  more  re- 
mote  from  active  operation,   but   it  is  par- 

157 


OUT  THERE 

ticularly  desirable  that  they  should  be  pushed 
as  far  to  the  front  as  military  operations 
will  permit,  in  order  that  such  comforts  and 
conveniences  as  they  afford,  may  reach  the 
soldiers  in  the  more  advanced  positions  where 
they  are  most  needed." 

All  profits  wliich  the  Association  is  mak- 
ing from  the  canteens  it  expends  for  the 
benefit  and  amusement  of  the  soldiers,  as  its 
principal  object  is  to  administer  to  their 
needs. 

In  a  sentence,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  the  sol- 
dier's best  friend.  It  fiu-nishes  him  a  home- 
like place,  free  from  military  discipline.  It 
takes  the  home  into  the  camp.  It  "keeps 
the  home  fires  burning." 


CHAPTER  XII 


'answering  the  call" 


Germany  with  her  ruthless  submarine  pol- 
icy forced  the  United  States  into  the  war, 
realizing  that  this  country  was  as  unpre- 
pared for  war  as  any  country  could  be.  The 
United  States  had  always  been  a  peace-lov- 
ing nation,  and,  contrary  to  the  policy  of  the 
great  European  nations,  we  had  no  program 
of  compulsory  military  training.  The  stand- 
ing army  was  a  mere  handful,  scattered  over 
all  parts  of  the  nation. 

The  United  States  had  gone  on  the  Mon- 
roe Doctrine,  believing  that  it  would  not  be 
necessary  for  America  to  enter  European 
poHtics.  However,  from  the  very  day  that 
Germany  invaded  Belgium,  America  was  in- 
evitably being  drawn  into  the  arena.  When, 
in  February,  1915,  the  Ldisitania  went  down, 
the  handwriting  appeared  on  the  wall. 

But  Germany,  in  drawing  the  United 
159 


OUT  THERE 

States  into  the  war,  overlooked  the  fact  that 
she  was  drawing  in  the  nation  that  could  in 
time  produce  more  money,  more  men  and 
more  munitions  than  any  other  country  in 
the  world.  As  ex-President  Taft  has  said, 
the  country  was  well  prepared  in  one  respect, 
"in  the  manufacture  of  munitions.  The  war 
situation  and  the  desire  for  gain  on  our  part 
has  brought  about  a  state  of  affairs  which 
puts  us  far  ahead  of  France  and  England 
in  this  respect."  Mr.  Taft  was  referring  to 
the  large  number  of  munition  plants,  such 
as  the  Du  Pont,  the  Bethlehem  Steel,  and 
others,  who  through  supplying  the  Allies  have 
grown  into  tremendous  munition  producing 
plants. 

Without  question  Germany  had  reckoned 
upon  the  large  number  of  German  Ameri- 
cans being  able  to  hold  back  the  war  prepa- 
rations in  the  States.  To  her  way  of  thinking 
she  had  laid  her  plans  well  in  the  damnable 
spy  system  and  schemes  which  Bernstorff  had 
so  minutely  planned  before  the  break  came. 

The  Imperial  German  Government  was 
counting  on  the  German  Americans  making 

160 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL" 

trouble  in  such  a  serious  manner  that  Amer- 
ica would  have  her  hands  full  on  the  inside. 
Likewise  in  the  schemes  that  had  been  laid 
out  to  blow  up  munitions  plants,  railroad 
bridges  and  steamers,  she  expected  to  so 
cripple  America  that,  as  a  fighting  factor, 
she  would  practically  not  count. 

The  answer  that  America  has  given  to 
Germany  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  that 
any  nation  has  given  to  another  country  at 
war. 

In  April,  when  we  entered  the  war,  the 
universal  talk  was — it  would  be  only  a  mat- 
ter of  moral  influence — that  no  troops  would 
need  to  be  sent  overseas — and  if  troops  were 
sent  over,  it  would  only  be  for  the  effect  it 
would  have  upon  our  Allies. 

In  one  year  see  what  a  change!  Congress 
passed  the  conscription  bill  which  made  avail- 
able for  military  service  ten  millions  of  men. 
An  army  of  a  million  and  a  half  of  men  has 
been  raised.  Great  camps,  from  two  to  eleven 
thousand  acres  in  extent,  have  been  estab- 
lished. Cities  housing  forty  thousand  men 
have    sprung   up    where    soldiers    are   being 

161 


OUT  THERE 

trained — ^not  for  any  moral  effect,  but  for 
service  on  the  Western  front.  Instead  of 
sending  to  France  an  army  of  one  hmidred 
thousand,  we  are  told  that  already  at  least 
&ve  hundred  thousand  men  are  in  line  "over 
there." 

With  a  determined  hand  the  American 
people  have  come  forward  to  pay  the  finan- 
cial price  it  takes  to  win  the  war.  The  first 
great  Liberty  Loan  of  two  bilhons  was  over- 
subscribed; the  second  Liberty  Loan  of  three 
bilhons  was  also  oversubscribed.  America 
said  in  substance  to  her  Allies,  we  are  pre- 
paring, if  needs  be,  to  finance  the  war  from 
now  on. 

In  addition  to  the  Liberty  Loan  cam- 
paigns, the  Red  Cross,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A., 
the  Knights  of  Columbus,  came  forward  for 
money  to  minister  to  those  who  are  suffer- 
ing and  in  need,  and  to  care  for  the  welfare 
of  the  soldiers.  In  every  instance  the  amount 
they  asked  for  was  oversubscribed. 

As  to  the  German  Americans,  there  has 
been  very  little  trouble.  After  personally 
going  from  coast  to  coast  and  speaking  in 

162 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL" 

some  of  the  most  so-called  pro-German  cities 
in  America,  I  have  come  to  believe  firmly 
that  among  the  most  loyal  citizens  will  be 
fomid  large  nmnbers  of  the  so-called  pro- 
Germans.  Before  America  entered  the  war 
it  was  natm-al  that  many  of  those  of  German 
birth  found  it  hard  to  believe  the  stories  that 
came  regarding  Germany's  way  of  conduct- 
ing the  war.  The  German  propaganda  was 
so  cleverly  carried  on  in  America  that  the 
stories  of  the  terrible  atrocities  and  the  fright- 
ful manner  in  wliich  Germany  was  carrying 
on  war  were  constantly  being  discredited. 

When  America  entered  the  war  it  was  an 
entirely  different  issue.  It  was  then  Ger- 
many or  America;  no  longer  a  question  of 
pro-German,  pro-French,  or  pro-British,  but 
a  question  of  Americans  for  America. 

In  one  city  in  America  which  I  visited  the 
proportion  of  German  citizens  is  larger  than 
any  other  foreign  nationality,  and  despite  it 
all  I  visited  no  city  where  the  response  and 
spirit  of  patriotism  was  more  manifest. 

Since  America  is  made  up  of  such  large 
numbers   of  citizens  of  foreign  birth,   it  is 

163 


OUT  THERE 

right  that  no  man's  loyalty  be  questioned 
without  good  cause. 

At  the  same  time,  after  having  gone  up 
and  down  the  Western  front,  and  realizing 
that  a  spy  within  our  own  doors  is  more  dan- 
gerous than  a  spy  on  the  Western  front,  I 
have  come  back  from  the  last  trip  to  France 
with  the  firm  conviction  that  any  man  or 
woman  proving  himself  or  herself  disloyal  or  a 
traitor  should  be  dealt  with  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  the  war  policy  on  that  front  would  de- 
mand. 

Uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all  must  stand 
the  point  that  we  must  win  the  war,  and  win 
it  in  a  decisive  way.  The  Western  line  must 
be  broken  and  the  Prussian  Military  party 
so  humihated  that  it  will  be  discounted  in 
Germany  to  such  an  extent  that  it  no  longer 
will  have  the  upper  hand  in  German  politics. 

After  having  been  in  a  state  of  war  for 
one  year  with  Germany,  it  is  natural  that 
there  should  be  critics  of  the  administration 
who  feel  that  America  has  done  very  little. 
OBut,  considering  the  state  of  affairs  that 
America  was  in  when  we  entered  the  conflict. 

164 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL" 

the  preparations  she  has  made  and  the  things 
accomplished  during  that  one  year  have  been 
remarkable. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  wonderful 
work  of  the  nurses  and  the  doctors  who  min- 
ister to  those  who  are  sick  and  wounded  at 
the  front. 

Far  removed  as  we  are  from  the  seat  of  the 
war,  it  is  quite  natural  that  we  should  over- 
look the  suffering  and  need  among  the  non- 
combatants,  which  is  purely  a  by-product  of 
the  war.  In  many  cases  it  actually  becomes 
greater  than  the  needs  at  the  front.  The 
actual  war  machine  has  driven  from  their 
homes  literally  milhons  of  helpless  women 
and  children.  All  Belgium  has  come  to  feel 
the  wheels  of  the  German  machine.  In  Po- 
land, Servia,  Northern  France,  and  many  of 
the  other  invaded  districts  it  has  made  home- 
less and  helpless  literally  millions  of  people. 
The  Armenians  are  vanishing  by  the  thou- 
sands— ^truly  the  whole  nation  is  in  danger 
of  being  wiped  out  because  of  the  war. 

While  in  Egypt  in  1916  I  visited  one  of 
the  great  Armenian  refugee  camps.     Those 

165 


OUT  THERE 

refugees  who  escaped  from  the  mountains  of 
Lebanon  and  got  to  the  sea,  after  thousands 
of  them  had  been  slain  on  the  wayside,  were 
picked  up  by  a  French  cruiser  and  carried  to 
Port  Said.  In  all  this  camp  I  do  not  believe 
there  was  a  single  family  which  had  been  left 
intact. 

Long  before  America  entered  the  war  the 
generous-hearted  American  citizens  had  heard 
the  appeal  and  had  helped  to  minister  to  the 
suffering  in  Belgium,  although  in  a  far  too 
meagre  way — Armenian  relief,  Polish  rehef, 
Servian  relief,  relief  to  the  needy  in  France, 
but  all  on  a  very  small  and  inadequate  scale. 
It  was  practically  only  a  drop  in  the  bucket. 
But  no  sooner  had  America  entered  the  war 
than  the  humanitarian  call  was  answered,  and 
answered  in  a  tremendous  way. 

Mr.  Henry  P.  Davison  was  called  to  the 
head  of  the  Red  Cross.  He  is  one  of  Amer- 
ica's keenest  and  best  business  men.  No 
longer  was  the  plan  to  spend  hundreds  or 
thousands  in  relief,  but  millions.  The  Red 
Cross  laid  out  a  program  which  should  not 
only  touch  one  phase  of  the  suffering,  but 

166 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL'* 

should  be  comprehensive  and  universal.  The 
program  of  activities  has  been  so  tremen- 
dously far  sweeping  and  important  that  it 
can  only  be  barely  mentioned. 

Plans  were  made  to  move  the  little  help- 
less children  from  Belgium  to  neutral  coun- 
tries and  Allied  territory  by  the  hundreds 
and  thousands.  It  was  not  enough  that  they 
should  give  mere  temporary  rehef  to  the 
helpless  women  and  little  children  of  France, 
but  in  conjunction  with  that  marvelous  work 
which  has  been  carried  on  by  England  and 
America,  a  program  was  mapped  out  to  help 
reconstruct  the  invaded  villages.  A  mere 
statement  of  this  fact  seems  cold  when  one 
has  seen  what  such  a  work  will  mean.  Whole 
villages  which  have  been  laid  absolutely  level 
to  the  ground  are  to  be  rebuilt  and  refur- 
nished, so  that  those  who  are  left  can  go  back 
into  what  were  once  their  cheerful  and  pleas- 
ant little  villages. 

In  conjunction  with  the  Rockefeller  Foun- 
dation they  are  also  helping  to  solve  the  great 
tubercular  problem  of  France. 

They  sent  commissions  to  Russia,  Servia, 
167 


OUT  THERE 

Italy  and  other  of  the  suffering  countries  in 
order  that  they  might  have  first-hand  infor- 
mation, so  that  in  a  great,  masterly  fashion 
they  would  be  able  to  minister  not  to  one 
phase  of  the  great  needy,  suffering  fields,  but 
that  all  parts  of  the  great  war  zone  might 
be  helped,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  rebuilt. 

Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  work  that 
the  Red  Cross  has  done  in  conjunction  with 
the  actual  armies  in  its  ministering  to  the 
wounded.  But  undoubtedly  the  finest  piece 
of  work  being  done  by  them  is  for  those  who 
come  under  what  I  call  "the  by-product  of 
war." 

Inasmuch  as  it  has  been  my  privilege  to 
have  seen  so  much  of  the  war,  I  have  come 
to  realize  that  the  work  being  carried  on  by 
the  Red  Cross  at  the  present  time  will  be 
only  a  fraction  of  the  work  that  it  will  need 
to  do  after  peace  has  been  declared. 

Not  only  will  America  help  to  bring  the 
war  to  a  successful  finish,  but  we  will  learn 
as  a  nation  to  sacrifice  and  give  in  such  a 
way  that,  when  the  war  ends,  every  man, 
woman  and  child  of  our  great  nation  will 

168 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL" 

feel  the  responsibility  of  helping  to  build  up 
and  reconstruct  devastated   Europe. 

At  the  present  time  it  is  the  exceptional 
American  home  that  will  not  have  received  a 
letter  written  by  some  boy  who  is  in  an  army 
camp  here  or  over  in  France.  Almost  with- 
out exception  those  letters  bear  the  stamp  of 
the  Red  Triangle.  This  triangle  has  come  to 
be  recognized  by  all  as  the  sign  of  the  one 
homelike  place  in  every  American  camp. 

We  do  well  to  remember  that  all  of  our 
Allies  have  not  been  so  fortunate.  Great 
Britain  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  war 
realized  what  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  would  mean 
to  her  armies.  In  the  British  army  today 
the  red  triangle  is  as  much  a  part  of  the 
fighting  machine  as  any  other  part  of  the 
service. 

Russia,  Italy  and  France  have  not  had  such 
an  organization.  After  weeks  and  months 
in  the  trenches  there  was  no  place  for  the 
Russian,  Italian  and  French  soldiers  to  go 
for  a  few  hours  of  relaxation,  nowhere  to  go 
to  write  their  home  letters,  no  place  to  go 
where  they  could  be  cheered  up. 

169 


OUT  THERE 

The  General  French  Staff  recognized  this 
need  and  called  upon  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to 
estabhsh  its  work  with  the  French  army. 
The  work  had  been  tried  out  on  a  small  scale 
in  many  of  the  French  camps  before  Amer- 
ica entered  the  war.  The  International  Com- 
mittee of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  had  supplied 
money  for  a  number  of  places  to  be  opened 
to  the  French  army.  It  was  my  privilege 
to  visit  several  of  these  centers  which  had 
been  established  before  America  entered  the 
war.  One  was  in  a  great  munition  plant 
where  seventeen  thousand  men  were  labor- 
ing, all  of  them  soldiers  past  forty  years  of 
age — working  twelve  hours  a  day,  and  on 
Sunday,  eighteen  hours  on  the  shift,  one  day 
a  month  rest,  receiving  a  wage  of  five  cents 
per  day.  The  building  which  had  been  estab- 
lished was  being  crowded  and  jammed  and 
packed  every  single  minute  that  the  men 
were  off  duty. 

Another  of  the  buildings  was  in  a  great 
military  camp  where  thousands  of  boys  who 
belonged  to  the  youngest  class  which  had 
been  called  to  the  colors  had  been  encamped. 

170 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL" 

The  old  General  who  was  in  charge  of  the 
camp  informed  me  that  after  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
had  been  established  the  vice  in  his  camp  had 
decreased  ninety-five  per  cent,  and  that  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  express  the  appre- 
ciation with  which  his  men  had  received  it. 

This  work  had  been  administered  and  car- 
ried forward  under  the  remarkable  leadership 
of  the  General  Secretary  of  the  Foyer-du- 
Soldats  Y.  M,  C.  A.,  Mr.  Emanuel  Sautter 
himself  a  Frencliman. 

Dr,  John  R.  Mott,  head  of  the  American 
Y.  M.  C.  A.,  had  been  back  of  the  prelim- 
inary work  with  the  French  army.  Conse- 
quently, when  America  entered  the  war,  the 
French  army  had  come  to  realize  what  this 
work  meant  to  the  men. 

General  Petain  asked  the  American  Asso- 
ciation to  cooperate  and  take  over,  under  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Sautter,  thirteen  hundred 
buildings,  dugouts  and  cellars  which  should 
be  erected  and  equipped  for  the  army,  but 
directed  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  This  invitation 
was  accepted,  and  today  the  American  Y.  M. 
C.  A.,  under  the  direction  of  the  War  Work 

173 


OUT  THERE 

Council  of  America  and  the  able  leadership 
of  Mr.  Sautter,  is  being  established  with  the 
whole  French  army. 

General  Pershing  cabled  to  America: 

"The  greatest  service  America  can  imme- 
diately render  France  is  to  extend  Associa- 
tion work  to  the  entire  French  army." 

In  addition  to  the  call  for  help  which  came 
from  the  French  army,  came  the  call  from 
Italy,  and  the  Italian  Government  invited  a 
commission  to  visit  Italy  and  the  front  in 
order  to  see  the  need  for  the  work  of  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  with  the  Italian  army.  This 
commission  was  made  up  of  delegates  from 
the  American  Association  and  delegates  from 
the  British  Association.  Plans  were  laid 
immediately  to  start  the  work  in  Italy. 

When  the  American  commission  which  had 
been  sent  to  Russia  returned  to  America,  they 
came  bearing  a  call  from  Russia  for  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  work  in  the  Russian  army.  Possibly 
no  army  in  all  the  war  zone  has  needed  such 
help  more  than  the  Russian  army.  Who  can 
say  what  it  might  have  meant  had  this  work 
in   Russia  been  established  two  years   ago. 

174 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL" 

It  might  have  meant  the  saving  of  Russia 
to  the  Allied  cause. 

The  following  letter  from  Major-General 
H.  L.  Scott  to  Dr.  John  R.  Mott  clearly 
states  the  situation  in  Russia: 

"I  hope  you  will  push  the  plan  of  spread- 
ing the  work  of  the  Yoimg  Men's  Christian 
Association  throughout  the  Russian  army. 
Get  the  facts  before  the  President.  This  is 
a  matter  in  which  our  Government  should  co- 
operate at  once.  It  will  also  appeal  strongly 
to  men  and  women  of  means  in  America. 

"For  years  I  have  been  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  the  good,  practical  work  done 
by  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association 
in  the  American  Army  and  Navy.  I  have 
seen  its  helpful  activities  in  the  Philippines, 
in  Cuba,  on  our  Mexican  Border,  and  else- 
where. We  could  not  have  done  without  it. 
It  has  been  managed  in  such  a  broad-minded 
and  wise  way  that  it  has  been  well  received 
by  officers  and  enlisted  men  whose  views  on 
other  questions  have  differed  materially.  I 
have  just  seen  much  of  the  Russian  Army 
on  the   German,   Austrian   and   Roumanian 

175 


OUT  THERE 

fronts,  and  also  in  many  garrison  towns  of 
Russia  and  Siberia,  and  am  convinced  that 
the  Association  work  should  be  immediately 
organized  in  this  great  army  in  order  to 
ensure  the  contentment  and  efficiency  of  the 
men,  to  raise  their  morale,  and  to  help  coun- 
teract the  intriguing  propaganda  which  is 
doing  so  much  to  unsettle  them. 

"The  Roumanian  situation  must  not  be 
forgotten.  It  is  of  tremendous  importance. 
I  hear  good  reports  about  your  work  in  the 
French  Army.  I  am  not  surprised  that  Gen- 
eral Pershing  wishes  to  have  it  rapidly  ex- 
tended. 

"I  need  not  emphasize  the  importance  of 
your  choosing  the  best  qualified  men  to  take 
charge  of  this  work  in  the  armies  of  our 
Allies.  They  could  render  no  greater  service 
to  our  country  and  our  cause,  even  from  a 
military  point  of  view,  than  to  help  build  up 
and  save  the  power  of  these  millions  of  men 
on  whom  the  great  strain  comes.  Such  a 
work  requires  the  best  men  you  can  find." 

The  head  of  all  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  work 
in  France  is  Mr.  Edward  C.  Carter,  who, 

176 


"ANSWERING  THE  CALL" 

with  remarkable  foresight  and  wisdom,  has 
been  directing  the  work  in  the  war  zone. 
The  beginning  of  the  war  found  him  in  India, 
and  mider  his  direction  thirteen  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
Secretaries  left  that  country  with  the  first 
Indian  troops  that  sailed  for  France,  there 
to  carry  on  the  work  with  the  Indian  army. 

In  all  the  war  zone  there  is  no  man  who 
has  so  wholeheartedly  and  in  a  remarkable 
way  done  his  bit  to  win  the  war  as  Mr.  Car- 
ter has.  The  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
workers  under  his  du'ection  in  the  war  zone 
have  become  a  great  machine  which  in  no 
small  way  will  have  a  tremendous  effect  in 
helping  to  bring  the  war  to  ultimate  victory. 

In  1916  I  was  in  a  great  Indian  base  camp 
in  France.  All  of  the  Indian  soldiers  were 
of  Hindoo,  Mohammedan,  or  some  other  non- 
Christian  faith,  but  they  had  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  One  morning  there  was 
found  on  the  door  of  one  of  our  huts  in  the 
base  camp  at  Marseilles  an  Urdu  poem, 
written  by  a  Sepoy.  The  following  is  an 
extract  from  a  translation  of  the  same: 

"Oh  God,  do  good  to  him  who  has  founded  this 
177 


OUT  THERE 

Association ;  may  it  remain  established  in  the  world 
forever. 

"Every  moment  those  who  are  in  charge  give  to 
any  of  us  who  need  them  paper  and  envelopes  .  .  . 
pen  and  ink.  For  those  who  are  ignorant  or  illit- 
erate and  cannot  write  themselves,  they  write  letters; 
and  this  they  do  without  cost. 

"Lo !  on  the  ground  the  Sepoy  sits  around  as  they 
listen  to  the  music  of  the  gramophone. 

*'They  provide  us  with  the  much-needed  soap  and 
razor,  and  brush,  and  machine  with  which  they  cut 
our  hair  and  clip  our  beards, 

"In  the  morning  they  all  join  with  us  in  football 
and  hockey,  and  at  night  they  show  us  moving 
pictures. 

"The  secretaries  of  this  Association  are  fully  sym- 
pathetic, because  they  consider  everyone  as  their 
brothers. 

"How  can  I  tell  of  our  praise  and  admiration  for 
this  Association !  .  .  . 

"And  this,  too,  is  the  prayer  of  Maula  for  this 
Association,  that  it  may  ever  abide  under  God's 
protection." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

"homesick?    yes" 

The  Quay  throbbed  with  cheerful-faced 
American  sailor  lads. 

They  were  streaming  to  the  dock  from  their 
little  boats.  All  of  them  were  happy  and 
smiling,  for  it  was  evening  and  they  were 
coming  on  shore  leave.  We  crowded  through 
them  and  found  the  motor  boat  that  was  to 
take  us  over  to  the  fleet  in  the  bay. 

As  we  went  out  through  the  bay  we  found 
the  waves  roUing  quite  high. 

Had  not  those  two  sailors  managed  to  take 
some  of  the  waves  side  on,  which  soaked  our 
new  uniforms,  we  might  have  doubted  they 
were  true  Yankee  lads,  always  keen  on  a  joke 
or  a  bit  of  fun. 

They  were  a  part  of  what  I  like  to  refer 
to  as  the  vanguard  of  American  patriots. 
They  belonged  to  the  Mosquito  Fleet. 

I  recall  how  the  day  the  enlistments  were 
opened  up  in  the  Mosquito  Fleet  scores  of 

179 


OUT  THERE 

men  from  Cornell,  where  I  make  my  home, 
rushed  in  to  volunteer,  as  did  hundreds  from 
other  colleges.  All  of  them  rushed  in  be- 
lieving that  the  Mosquito  Fleet  would  be  the 
first  to  see  active  service.  A  more  truly  dem- 
ocratic group  of  men  was  never  gathered  to- 
gether. Here  they  were  college  athletes,  sons 
of  millionaires,  successful  young  business  men, 
adventurers  and  paupers,  types  of  every  de- 
scription and  kind,  but  all  of  them  true  pa- 
triots. For  all  of  them  had  rushed  in  believ- 
ing that  our  navy  would  be  the  only  part  of 
our  military  machine  to  see  service  in  the  great 
war. 

As  I  came  on  deck,  standing  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  was  a  clean-cut,  alert,  splendid 
looking  sailor  standing  at  attention.  Upon 
our  request  he  quickly  stepped  into  the  Cap- 
tain's room  to  inform  him  that  his  guests  had 
arrived  for  mess.  As  the  lad  came  out  of  the 
cabin  and  passed  me,  he  inquired  if  this  was 
Mr.  Whitehair  of  Cornell. 

On  being  answered  in  the  affirmative  he 
said: 

"Please  ask  him  if  he  knows  my  father." 
180 


"HOMESICK?    YES" 

Know  him?  He  was  the  last  man  I  had 
tried  to  call  on  the  telephone  to  say  goodbye 
to  before  I  left  for  the  War  Zone.  At  once, 
his  officer  sent  for  him  in  order  that  he  might 
accompany  us  as  we  went  over  the  ship. 

Here  was  an  example  of  true  democracy, 
for  not  only  did  he  go  on  the  tour  of  inspec- 
tion with  us,  but  his  officer  asked  him  to  ex- 
plain everything  to  us.  As  we  followed  our 
young  University  friend  over  the  ship,  we 
realized  that  he  represented  the  type  that  will 
help  to  bring  this  war  to  only  one  conclusion 
— complete  victory.  He  was  as  intent  in 
mastering  every  detail  of  the  ship  as  he  had 
ever  been  to  work  out  his  University  problems. 

After  mess,  as  I  sat  on  his  bunk  talking 
over  the  battles  that  these  lads  were  facing, 
thousands  of  miles  from  home,  I  truly  realized 
that  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  had  come  to  be  the  great 
watchful,  loving,  forgiving  mother.  It  has 
gone  in  to  help  and  guide  the  lads  aright  in- 
stead of  criticizing. 

For,  after  all,  the  greatest  battle  of  all  is 
probably  the  moral  battle.  As  we  stood  on 
deck  and  I  said  goodbye  to  my  friend  I  asked 

181 


OUT  THERE 

him  what  was  the  word  he  wanted  me  to  take 
back  to  America.  Looking  me  squarely  in 
the  eye  and  thinking  of  course  of  that  httle 
wife  back  in  America,  he  rephed  without  a 
moment's  hesitation: 

"Tell  them  I  should  hke  to  come  home,  but 
I  am  not  coming  until  the  show  is  over." 

Homesick?  Of  course  he  is.  But  he  is  ab- 
solutely determined  to  see  the  thing  through 
to  a  finish.  And  all  down  through  the  Amer- 
ican camps  I  found  that  same  spirit,  "not 
coming  home  until  the  show  is  over." 

One  afternoon  as  I  entered  a  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
tent  down  in  the  camps  of  the  Americans,  I 
found  a  whole  crowd  packed  and  jammed 
around  the  canteen  counter,  eagerly  waiting, 
not  for  their  turn  to  buy  a  package  of  Bull 
Durham  or  some  chocolate,  but  eager  to  catch 
every  word  that  was  falling  from  the  lips  of 
that  fine  wholesome  American  woman  back  of 
the  counter.  What  she  was  saying  mattered 
little  to  them,  save  that  here  was  a  woman 
who  had  come  thousands  of  miles  overseas  to 
serve  and  help  them. 

Certainly  she  of  all  women  ought  to  know 
182 


"HOMESICK?    YES" 

soldiers,  for  it  was  no  other  than  Mrs.  Arthur 
Gleason,  the  wife  of  the  American  journalist. 

She  and  her  husband  served  for  over  a  year 
in  Flanders  under  the  German  guns.  They 
belong  to  that  small  group  of  Americans  who 
had  not  waited  for  their  country  to  come  into 
the  war  but  had  heard  the  call  of  a  suffering 
needy  people  and  responded  to  it.  They  went 
into  Belgium  and  were  captured  by  the  Ger- 
mans as  they  came  on  toward  Paris.  They 
were  released.  Undaunted  they  stayed  on, 
ministering  to  the  wounded,  helping  to  care 
for  the  suffering  little  children  in  spite  of 
dangers  and  without  thought  of  themselves. 

Mrs.  Gleason  was  decorated  by  the  King 
of  Belgium  for  her  bravery  and  service  to  the 
people  of  Belgium.  As  we  stood  in  the 
American  camp,  she  spoke  of  these  great  big 
whole-hearted  American  boys.     As  she  put  it : 

"I  never  knew  men  could  get  so  homesick 
as  these  men  seem  to  get. 

"They  are  always  wanting  to  talk  with  you 
about  home,  talk  with  you  about  their  sweet- 
hearts, showing  you  their  letters,  bringing  in 
their  pictures  to  exhibit,  always  anxious  for  a 

183 


OUT  THERE 

word  of  comfort  and  cheer,  and  a  bit  of  sym- 
pathy such  as  only  a  woman  can  give." 

Undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  unique  pieces 
of  service  being  rendered  in  France  by  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  the  service  which  is  being  ren- 
dered by  these  fine  clean,  wholesome  Ameri- 
can women  who  are  going  over  at  their  own 
expense,  imder  the  direction  of  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  to  work  among  the  American  boys. 

What  are  they  doing?  Up  at  5.30  or  6 
in  the  morning,  washing  dishes,  serving  coffee, 
tea,  looking  after  the  canteen,  and  in  every 
possible  way  doing  all  they  can  to  help  the 
boys  in  the  camps.  Many  times  standing  all 
day  long,  wading  through  mud  and  water, 
living  in  all  sorts  of  houses,  without  fire  in  the 
house,  and  without  the  comfort  of  a  bath. 

Britain  has  sent  hundreds  of  her  finest 
women  to  France  to  serve  in  the  British 
camps.  I  remember  hearing  the  story  told 
of  one  boy  who  had  been  in  the  trenches  for 
weeks  and  had  come  out  with  his  regiment. 
They  were  all  crowding  into  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
to  get  a  cup  of  tea.  There  were  so  many  of 
them  it  was  impossible  to  serve  more  than  one 

184 


"HOMESICK?    YES" 

cup  to  each  boy.  But  one  lad  after  getting 
his  cup  of  tea  kept  hanging  around  the  coun- 
ter as  if  waiting  for  something  else.  At  last 
one  of  the  ladies  noticing  him  said: 

"You  know,  my  boy,  we  can  only  '^ive  you 
one  cup  of  tea." 

"I  know  that,  but  I  don't  want  your  tea." 
"Well,  what  is  it  you  want?'" 
"Oh,  I  just  want  to  hear  your  voice." 
After  weeks  and  days  in  the  trenches,  the 
kind  sympathetic  voice  of  a  woman  meant 
more  to  the  lad  than  anything  else  that  could 
be  given  to  him. 

I  think  possibly  the  biggest  surprise  I  had 
on  first  going  to  the  war  was  the  constant  call- 
ing for  a  certain  song  when  I  asked  them 
"What  shall  we  sing  tonight?"  I  have  heard 
it  come  ringing  back  to  me  from  the  great 
army  camps  in  the  desert,  from  the  camps 
all  along  the  canal,  in  the  great  training 
camps  in  England  and  Scotland,  ap  and  down 
the  Western  front;  I  have  heard  it  with  the 
Yankees  down  in  France,  I  have  heard  it  in 
the  officers'  reserve  camps  in  America,  from 
young  University  men  who  three  months  be- 

185 


OUT  THERE 

fore  would  have  laughed  if  any  one  had  called 
for  it. 
"WHAT  SHALL  WE  SING?" 

"Where  is  my  Wandering  Boy  tonight." 

And  nobody  laughs. 

Homesick?     Of  course,  they  are  homesick. 

I  have  never  heard  a  single  soldier  call  for 
"Home,  Sweet  Home."  That  would  be  one 
too  many. 

The  women  Y.  M.  C.  A.  workers  are  called 
upon  to  do  all  sorts  of  work.  In  Cairo  I 
found  one  of  the  ladies  who  was  helping  to 
get  the  men  into  touch  with  their  homes  as 
many  of  them  were  failing  to  get  their  letters. 
She  told  me  of  the  following  touching  inci- 
dent: 

"A  man,  one  of  the  Shrouvra  Guard,  called 
for  letters.  He  stated  that  for  seven  months 
he  had  not  received  a  letter  from  his  wife  and 
felt  that  he  would  go  out  of  his  mind  if  he  did 
not  hear  soon.  I  wrote  to  the  Military  Base 
Post  Office,  Alexandria,  and  to  the  *Sick  and 
Wounded  Post  Office'  and  asked  them  to 
post  all  the  letters  they  had  or  would  receive 
to  him  at  this  address.    Some  five  weeks  later 

186 


"HOMESICK?    YES" 

he  and  G.ve  mates  called  for  letters.  I  handed 
him  a  large  bundle  of  letters  from  his  wife, 
he  burst  into  tears  and  kissed  the  envelopes 
again  and  again.  A  week  later  he  returned 
and  insisted  on  my  taking  a  10  piastre  piece, 
saying  'I  am  not  a  wealthy  man.  Sister,  and 
have  the  wife  and  kids  at  home,  but  I  must 
give  something,  I  am  so  grateful.' "  Since 
then  he  has  received  over  a  hundred  letters, 
and  in  his  last  mail  received  three  letters  di- 
rect from  Australia. 

The  one  appeal  that  is  helping  to  keep  men 
clean  and  pure  is  the  appeal  to  be  true  to  the 
home  folks.  Many  of  the  women  who  have 
gone  into  the  camps  to  serve  the  boys  are 
wealthy  women  who  have  never  before 
thought  of  comforts  of  other  people,  but  have 
lived  a  selfish  life.  But  out  in  France  today 
they  are  truly  catching  a  new  vision  of  the 
democracy  of  tomorrow. 

In  the  French  citj^  where  the  Mosquito 
Fleet  was  making  its  base,  it  was  found  there 
was  no  desirable  place  for  the  American 
sailors  to  eat  when  on  leave.  The  American 
Y.  M.  C.  A,  had  no  intention  of  going  into 

187 


OUT  THERE 

the  restaurant  business,  but  it  had  coveted, 
with  the  American  public,  the  privilege  of  fol- 
lowing and  helping  take  care  of  the  American 
soldiers. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  a  restaurant  must 
be  started.  A  large  place  was  rented  and 
the  money  to  start  the  restaurant  was  fur- 
nished by  a  well  known  American  woman  who 
was  living  there  at  the  time.  After  everj^- 
thing  was  ready,  it  was  found  there  was  no 
one  to  run  the  restaurant.  However,  it  was 
opened  the  first  night  with  a  splendid  group 
of  American  women  waiting  on  tables,  one  of 
whom  afterwards  said  that  the  first  night  she 
had  the  privilege  of  waiting  on  a  lad  who  had 
been  a  table  steward  on  her  husband's  yacht 
less  than  a  year  before. 

The  lads  have  gone  forward  with  aching 
hearts  and  smiling  lips.  They  constantly 
seem  to  keep  in  mind  that  all  of  the  heroes 
are  not  at  the  battle  front,  but  that  the  brave 
heroic  mothers,  wives  and  sweethearts  who 
have  sent  them  forth  are  truly  carrying  their 
share  of  the  gi-eat  world  conflict. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

"keeping  the  home  fires  burning" 

No  army  has  ever  taken  the  field  more 
carefully  guarded  and  protected  from  a  moral 
standpoint  than  the  present  American  Army. 
No  army  has  ever  gone  into  the  field  with 
more  comforts  and  touches  of  home.  The 
Committee  on  Public  Information  in  their 
bulletin  number  19  stated: 

"The  need  for  this  is  great  indeed.  Statis- 
tics of  the  first  years  of  the  war  are  said  to 
show  that  in  one  of  the  highest  grade  Colonial 
Armies  which  suffered  most  under  fire,  the 
dead  and  wounded  numbered  fewer  than  8 
per  cent.,  while  disabihty  from  avoidable  dis- 
ease rose  to  20  per  cent." 

Our  country  at  the  very  outset  of  our  entry 
into  the  war  faced  the  facts.  Our  Secretary 
of  War  appointed  a  Commission  on  Training 
Camp  Activities.  Realizing  that  vice  may 
become  the  enemy's  best  ally,  they  at  once 
faced  that  issue.     For  as  our  honored  ex-Pres- 

189 


OUT  THERE 

ident,  William  H.  Taft,  has  so  well  stated: 

"If  you  mass  thousands  of  men  together, 
take  them  away  from  home  influences,  and 
put  them  into  a  camp  where  they  have  hours 
of  leisure,  it  is  certain  that  vice  will  be  mobi- 
lized in  the  vicinity  of  that  camp.  It  is  to  be 
expected  that  unless  there  is  something  to 
help  them,  the  boys  will  take  the  downward 
path.  An  examination  shows  that  one  of  the 
most  deteriorating  effects  upon  an  army  and 
its  fighting  capacity  results  from  this  mobili- 
zation of  the  underworld  in  the  neighborhood 
of  these  camps.  The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  an  anti- 
dote for  that  poison." 

The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  was  called  upon  by  the 
Commission  to  help  solve  this  problem. 

It  has  in  a  remarkable  way  answered  the 
call. 

Into  the  camps,  great  and  small,  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  has  gone,  not  to  criticize  the  lad  who  has 
a  tendency  to  forget  home  and  home  influ- 
ences, but  rather  to  make  the  Hut  in  the  camp 
so  cheerful  and  homelike  that  the  boy  will 
have  no  desire,  when  off  duty,  to  go  into  the 
village  or  city  for  relaxation  and  amusement. 

190 


"THE  HOME  FIRES" 

I  recall  going  into  an  Australian  Depot 
Camp  in  France,  which  was  near  a  large  city 
that  had  a  "state  regulated"  section  of  houses 
of  prostitution  with  guards  at  either  end  of 
those  streets,  not  to  prevent  soldiers  from  en- 
tering but  to  keep  order  and  prevent  them 
from  entering  only  at  stated  hours. 

In  the  large  Military  Camp  I  found  two 
enormous  Y.  M.  C.  A.  plants.  Each  had  a 
large  Canteen  Hut,  a  big  Cinema  Hall,  a 
Concert  Hall,  Writing  Rooms,  and  quiet 
rooms  for  meditation,  Bible  study  and  prayer. 
For  men  appreciate  tremendously  a  quiet 
room  where  they  can  sit  down  for  a  little 
while  away  from  the  din  of  war.  In  the 
buildings  were  nineteen  pool  and  billiard 
tables;  pianos,  and  many  other  smaller  and 
more  simple  attractions. 

I  arrived  in  the  camp  at  five  thirty  on  an 
ordinarj^  afternoon.  The  canteens  and  writ- 
ing rooms  were  packed  with  men.  Both  con- 
cert and  cinema  halls  were  jammed  with 
happy-faced  boys.  Between  the  two  plants 
was  a  large  natural  amphitheatre  in  the  center 
of  which  was  a  big  boxing  platform.    Around 

191 


OUT  THERE 

the  ring  were  packed  three  thousand  men 
watching  a  sparring  match.  Judging  from 
the  way  those  chaps  were  slugging,  it  is  a  mis- 
nomer to  call  it  a  sparring  match. 

More  than  six  thousand  men  were  being 
entertained  and  kept  busy  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
In  the  city,  outside  those  houses  of  shame,  the 
streets  were  empty. 

The  "big-hearted  Camp  Mother,"  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.,  was  at  work  "Keeping  the  Home  Ties 
Firm."  The  religion  of  a  clean,  wholesome 
life  had  entered  the  camp. 

Reforeeing  the  boxing  match  that  after- 
noon was  a  preacher. 

One  afternoon  in  one  of  the  American  Base 
Camps  I  was  asked  to  be  present  at  the  fu- 
neral of  the  first  American  sailor  lad  to  lay 
down  his  Hfe  for  his  country  overseas  since  our 
entry  into  the  war.  Arriving  at  the  hospital 
before  the  hour  set  for  the  funeral  I  went  into 
the  ward  to  visit  the  boys  who  were  in  the 
hospital.  Entering  the  ward,  my  eyes  rested 
on  two  splendid  looking  lads  who  were  in  ad- 
joining cots.  As  I  started  along  the  ward 
both  of  them  quietly  slipped  out  their  Testa- 

192 


"THE  HOME  FIRES" 

ments  from  under  their  pillows  and  laid  them 
on  the  stand  beside  them.  Poor  lads,  both  of 
them  were  so  keen  on  leaving  a  good  impres- 
sion on  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Secretary. 

I  sat  down  between  them,  both  less  than 
eighteen  years  of  age,  both  from  one  of  the 
finest  preparatory  schools  in  America.  As 
they  started  to  tell  me  their  troubles,  it  came 
to  my  mind  that  both  of  these  poor  unfortu- 
nate boys  were  there  with  the  mark  of  sin 
upon  them.  The  most  dreaded  of  all  diseases 
of  vice  had  them  in  its  clutches.  They  told 
me  how,  the  first  night  on  shore  leave,  with 
their  minds  dulled  by  wine  they  had  gone  inta 
a  certain  house  through  curiosity. 

Here  was  the  answer. 

When  they  went  back  to  their  ship  they 
had  failed  to  report  for  prophylaxis,  and  the 
coming  days  revealed  that  their  first  misstep 
had  cost  them  a  lifetime  of  regrets. 

As  I  sat  beside  them — did  I  criticize?  No.^ 
They  needed  compassion  and  pity  and  encour- 
agement more  than  any  other  thing  in  the 
world.  After  a  half  hour  of  trying  to  cheer 
them  up,  I  went  out  under  the  trees  to  stand 

193 


OUT  THERE 

beside  the  coffin  of  the  boy  who  had  given  his 
life  for  home  and  country.  Standing  beside 
his  coffin,  we  sang: 

1  need  Thy  presence  every  passing  hour ; 

Who,   but    Thy    grace,    can    foil    the    tempter's 
power  ? 
Who,  Hke  Thyself,  my  Guide  and  Stay  can  be? 

Through  cloud  and  sunshine.  Lord, 
Abide  with  me! 

I  somehow  felt  that  he  had  been  more  for- 
tunate than  the  poor  erring  lads  inside  the 
hospital.  He  had  gone  with  his  record  clean 
and  white. 

Thank  God  the  above  cases  are  small  when 
we  consider  the  millions  of  men  who  have  been 
rooted  up  out  of  their  homes  and  familiar 
environment,  and  sent  thousands  of  miles 
away  into  a  strange  land. 

In  the  large  cities  lie  the  greatest  pitfalls 
to  boys  who  are  on  leave.  Frankly  facing  this 
fact,  the  American  General  Staff  has  called 
upon  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to  provide  for  them. 

A  string  of  hotels  has  been  opened  in  Paris 
and  the  other  large  cities.  When  a  soldier 
reaches  the  city,  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  motor  car 

194 


"THE  HOME  FIRES" 

meets  him  at  the  station  and  takes  him  to  a 
delightful  Y.  M.  C.  A.  hotel.  It  is  being  run 
by  American  women. 

In  Paris  in  a  hotel  for  the  Officers  the  en- 
tire dining  room  service  is  handled  by  Mrs. 
Theodore  Roosevelt,  Jr.  Associated  with  her, 
ten  other  splendid  American  women  act  as 
waitresses  and  hostesses.  The  cigar  and  news- 
stand is  being  run  by  a  daughter  of  the  late 
Grover  Cleveland. 

All  of  these  women  workers  are  serving 
without  compensation,  as  are  the  women 
workers  in  the  canteens. 

A'  cheerful  homelike  hotel  helps  to  keep  the 
boy  away  from  the  moral  pitfalls.  It  gives 
him  a  breath  of  home  and  sends  him  back 
happy  and  fit  to  his  regiment  a  better  man 
for  his  leave. 

Xot  only  have  arrangements  been  made  in 
the  city,  but  E.  C.  Carter,  the  Head  Ameri- 
can Secretary  overseas,  has  with  great  wisdom 
and  foresight  secured  hotels  in  the  French 
Alps  where  the  soldiers  can  come  when  on 
leave.  There  they  will  enjoy  winter  or  sum- 
mer sports  away  from  the  great  cities. 

195 


OUT  THERE 

Before  American  troops  had  ever  landed  in 
Europe  Mr.  Carter  had  secured  in  London  a 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  hut  formerly  used  for  British 
troops,  so  that  when  they  landed  in  Britain 
they  found  waiting  for  them  one  of  the  finest 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  buildings  in  aU  the  war  zone. 
The  building  provides  five  hundred  beds,  a 
great  concert  hall,  four  large  fireplaces,  bil- 
liard and  pool  tables,  and  a  large  American 
restaurant  which  can  serve  one  thousand  boys 
at  a  meal.  Last,  but  not  least,  it  has  an 
American  soda  fountain,  one  of  the  first  to  be 
installed  in  London. 

Bunning  this  enormous  plant  is  a  staff  of 
almost  four  hundred  volunteer  women  workers. 

Not  only  this,  but  motor  cars  are  constantly 
being  run  during  the  day  taking  around 
parties  of  sight-seeing  soldiers.  At  night  a 
staff  of  cars  goes  all  over  the  city  picking  up 
soldier  boys  who  are  wandering  about  the 
streets,  or  have  forgotten  themselves  for  a 
little  while  and  are  in  a  condition  where  they 
need  a  friend. 

Down  in  the  camps  where  the  American 
soldiers  are  billeted  are  to  be  found  the  little 

196 


"THE  HOME  FIRES" 

wine  shops,  but,  fortunately  we  find  few 
American  boys  in  them.  Those  who  are  off 
duty  are  in  and  around  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  bar- 
ing a  good  time  or  writing  home  letters. 

In  most  cases  when  the  British  troops  go  on 
leave  they  can  cross  to  England  and  be  at 
home,  or  among  friends  or  relatives.  The 
American  has  no  such  luck.  He  is  thousands 
of  miles  from  home.  He  can  go  only  to  the 
great  cities  or  some  other  place  among  stran- 
gers. 

But  our  concern  in  America  need  not  be  so 
great,  as  we  think  of  our  lonely  sons  going 
on  leave  toward  the  great  cities  where  always 
lurks  temptation.  We  need  to  thank  God 
and  stop  our  worrying,  for  Dr.  Henry  Van 
Dyke  has  so  well  told  the  story  in  the  follow- 
ing lines : 

THE  Y.  M.  C.  A.  HUTS 
In  the  camps  around  our  country  and  in  countries 
far  away 
There's  a  lot  of  wooden  houses  that  are  marked 
Y.  M.  C.  A. 
And  some  are  painted  yellow  and  some  are  brown 
and  green, 
Now,  say,  who  owns  these  houses  and  what  do  the 
letters  mean? 

197 


OUT  THERE 

They  mean  a  bit  of  comfort  and  they  mean  a  place 
to  rest, 
Where  every  tired  soldier  boy  is  welcome  as   a 
guest. 
They  mean  a  bit  o'  friendly  talk,  some  music,  and 
some  jokes, 
And  some  quiet  little  corners  for  writing  to  our 
folks. 

They  mean  a  bit  of  human  love  amid  the  storm  of 
war. 
They  mean  the  word  of  healing  for  spirits  wounded 
sore. 
They  mean  a  simple  message  from  God's  own  holy 
word, 
And   they   mean   the   thought   of   the  home-land 
when  the  sweet  old  hymns  are  heard. 

You  ask  who  owns  these  houses.?    I  think  you  know 
His  name, 
You  call  Him  Savior,  Master,  Lord,  the  meanin's 
just  the  same. 
'Tis  the  One  who  gave  Himself  for  us,  the  Leader  of 
our  Life, 
We  pray  He'll  lead  and  keep  our  boys,  in  peril 
and  in  strife. 

O  keep  them  strong  and  steady  and  keep  them  clean 
and  true! 
Help  them  to  battle  for  the  right  and  put  the  vic- 
tory through! 

198 


"THE  HOME  FIRES" 

Be  Thou  their  shield  and  buckler ;  but  if  one  is  struck 
down, 
O,  Captain  of  salvation,  give  him  the  heavenly 
crown! 

Yes,  there  is  the  big  warm-hearted  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  worker  reaching  out  to  grasp  the  hand 
of  your  boy  and  keep  him  straight  and  steady 
— doing  for  him  what  you  yourself  would  like 
to  do.     In  the  biggest  sense  of  the  words: 

"Keeping  the  HOME  Fires  Burning"  in 
his  heart. 


CHAPTER   XV 

"EGYPTIAN   nights" 

Away  in  the  distance,  rising  out  of  a  sea 
of  burning  sand,  are  the  barren,  angry  look- 
ing hills.  Evening  shadows  steal  over  those 
barren  hills  and  forsaken  sands,  as  if  half 
afraid  to  drive  away  the  relentless  rays  of  the 
desert  day. 

It  is  the  outpost  of  the  Empire.  As  the 
darkness  deepens,  we  stand  in  the  midst  of 
the  outpost  camp.  Quietly  the  defenders  of 
the  Empire  that  had  come  across  ten  thousand 
miles  of  land  and  sea  gather  around  us. 

When  they  had  seated  themselves  on  the 
sand,  I  stood  among  them  telling  the  old 
story  of  the  Christ  who  lived  on  these  desert 
sands,  who  lived  and  died  that  men  might  have 
a  more  abundant  life.  They  caught  the  story; 
for  had  they  not  come  from  far  distant  Aus- 
tralia to  give  their  lives,  if  need  be,  for  the 
more  abundant  life  of  those  whom  they  held 

dear? 

200 


"EGYPTIAN  NIGHTS'* 

They  were  living  in  a  temperature  of  120 
degrees  to  130  degrees  in  the  shade;  and  there 
was  no  shade.  But  that  was  not  the  greatest 
hardship.  Each  man  was  allowed  only  one 
gallon  of  water  a  day  for  cooking,  drinking 
and  washing.  They  are  always  thirsty,  always 
hot,  always  cheerful. 

After  I  had  talked  to  them  for  some  time 
we  ended  our  meeting  singing: 

Abide  with  me,  fast  falls  the  eventide, 
The  darkness  deepens.  Lord  with  me  abide. 

As  the  men  went  off  quietly,  in  the  appal- 
ling silence  of  the  desert  night  to  their  bunks, 
one  chap  came  up  to  talk.  He  expressed 
truly  the  spirit  of  the  man  in  the  desert  camp. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  great  life.  Mister.  We  get  hot 
and  we  get  thirsty.  Our  shoes  get  full  of 
sand  and  we  get  jolly  well  fed  up  with  it  all. 
But  there  is  one  good  thing.  When  you  get 
ready  to  go  to  bed,  aU  you  got  to  do  is  just 
quit  smiling. 

"Has  anybody  told  you  about  the  men  that 
got  lost  a  few  weeks  ago?  Ten  men  were  on 
patrol  (camel  patrol)  five  days  into  the  desert, 
the  stars  by  night  to  guide  them,  and  the 

201 


OUT  THERE 

compass  and  sun  by  day.  Out  on  the  barren, 
trackless  desert,  they  got  lost  looking  for  the 
enemy.  Their  camels  went  footsore,  and  only 
two  of  the  men  were  able  to  go  on.  These 
two  volunteered  to  try  and  go  through  to 
camp  and  bring  rehef.  They  thought  they 
could  find  the  way,  and  after  miles  of  wan- 
dering and  hours  of  agony  they  arrived  in 
camp. 

"Their  tongues  were  swollen  out  of  their 
mouths.  One  of  the  camels  fell  dead  as  he 
staggered  into  camp  and  one  of  the  men  died 
a  few  hours  after  he  got  in.  The  other  man 
could  not  speak;  he  could  only  point  to  the 
desert.    They  knew  what  he  meant. 

"They  followed  the  foot  tracks  of  the 
camels  across  the  sand.  Fortunately  no  sand 
storms  had  come  up,  no  wind  had  been  blow- 
ing. They  found  the  other  eight  men  and 
brought  them  in.  Only  two  or  three  of  them 
recovered,  for  some  of  them  it  was  insanity 
and  some  of  them  death." 

Later  on  that  night  the  commanding  Cap- 
tain, who  since  has  been  mentioned  in  dis- 
patches, lay  on  the  sand  in  his  tent,  his  map 

202 


"EGYPTIAN  NIGHTS" 

spread  out  before  him.  He  was  telling  me 
about  the  Senussi  and  their  campaign.  He 
said: 

"By  the  way,  that  chap  you  were  talking 
to,  did  he  tell  you  about  the  men  being  lost 
in  the  desert?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  he  tell  you  that  he  was  the  man  that 
brought  the  message?" 

"No,  he  left  that  part  untold." 

Long  into  the  night  we  lay  on  our  blankets 
on  the  sand  watching  the  dancing  stars. 

Think  of  these  brown-faced  heroes!  They 
would  laugh  at  you  and  tell  you  to  stop  kid- 
ding if  you  called  them  that! 

The  Captain  had  told  us  that  in  case  of  a 
surprise  attack,  part  of  his  men  would  retire 
with  their  camels  a  short  distance  toward  the 
base  camp.  The  remainder  would  make  their 
stand  here. 

"But  what  if  the  enemy  comes  in  too  large 
numbers?" 

"Oh,  that.  Well,  we  will  just  stick  it,  and 
we  could  at  least  stop  them  long  enough  to 
give  the  base  camp  a  chance  to  get  ready." 

20S 


OUT  THERE 

No  thought  of  surrender,  no  thought  of  re- 
treat. 

The  morning  light  is  breaking  over  the  bar- 
ren hills  before  we  fall  asleep  in  this  far  flung 
outpost  of  the  Empire. 

By  train,  we  go  from  Cairo  to  Suez.  There 
we  join  the  Australian  Secretary,  William 
Owens,  a  blue-eyed  Australian,  vibrant  with 
dauntless  optimism  and  inexhaustible  vitality, 
who  is  in  charge  of  the  work  of  the  "Red 
Triangle"  along  the  Canal  and  in  the  camps 
of  Palestine.  He  had  taken  the  "Red  Tri- 
angle" on  to  the  shell  swept  shores  of  Gallip- 
oli,  and  has  since  carried  it  into  Jerusalem. 
,We  go  by  motor  boat  down  the  shores  of  the 
Sinai  Peninsula,  out  by  a  little  railroad  to 
Moses'  Well.  Speaking  there  at  night,  we 
then  go  by  motor  boat  back  past  Suez,  night 
after  night,  to  the  rail  head  camps  to  speak 
to  the  men,  then  on  to  the  next  camp.  Out 
to  the  rail  head  we  go,  and  then  in  the  Gen- 
eral's car  to  the  front  trenches,  where  we  find 
a  small  Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent,  "camouflaged"  so 
as  to  hide  it  from  "Johnny"  Turk's  plans. 
But  it  has  all  the  comforts  in  the  way  of  lime 

S04 


•Kvf>=:: 


"EGYPTIAN  NIGHTS'* 

juice,  biscuits,  tea,  cigarettes  and  nicknacks 
for  the  dust-covered,  parched  troops. 

Night  after  night  we  are  speaking  in 
crowded  tents  or  overflowing  huts,  or  mat 
sheds.  The  men  fairly  lift  the  roof  with  the 
old  songs  of  the  church,  for  nowhere  have  I 
heard  men  sing  as  soldiers  sing  on  active  duty. 
As  we  cease  speaking  and  ask  the  men  who 
want  to  take  a  stand  for  the  Christian  life  to 
hold  up  their  hands,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
or  two  hundred  hands  are  shoved  straight  into 
the  air,  as  these  men  take  their  stand  for  a 
cleaner  and  better  life. 

As  we  go  through  the  camps  during  the 
day,  and  hear  their  conversation,  we  wonder 
if  some  of  our  padres  back  home  would  not 
think  these  the  most  Godless  men  in  all  the 
world.  Swearing  at  their  camels,  for  most 
of  them  are  camel  riders,  swearing  at  their 
treatment,  swearing  at  their  luck,  swearing 
at  everything  in  sight,  one  would  think  these 
men  would  never  listen  to  a  religious  address. 

But  as  we  tell  the  story  of  the  Cross,  these 
same  lads,  that  same  evening  are  leaning  for- 
ward to  once  again  hear  the  old  story.     As  we 

207 


OUT  THERE 

ask  them  to  make  their  decision  for  a  Christian 
life,  up  go  their  hands  and  off  they  go  into 
the  night,  determined  in  their  hearts  to  be 
cleaner  and  purer  men.  Love,  friendship, 
sacrifice  are  the  subjects  that  seem  to  always 
grip. 

In  all  the  meetings  where  I  have  spoken  to 
soldiers  I  only  recall  one  man  who  was  dis- 
respectful or  inattentive  when  I  was  speaking 
on  a  Christian  theme. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  camps  on  the  far  flung 
battle  line  that  stretched  out  toward  Jerusa- 
lem.    The  tent  was  crowded  with  the  men 
who  had  gone  through  those  awful  days  of 
Gallipoli.     As  I  stood  to  start  the  meeting  I 
called  out  "Men,  what  are  we  going  to  sing 
tonight?"     Contrary    to    the    usual    answer, 
"Jesus  Lover  of  My  Soul,"  "Abide  with  Me," 
or  some  other  hymn,  there  came  back  an  en- 
tirely different  reply,  for  there  was  one  Aus- 
tralian down  in  front  who  was  determined 
that  we  were  not  going  to  have  any  religious 
meeting.     There  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind 
about  it. 

He  stood  about  six  feet  four,  and  looked  as 
208 


"EGYPTIAN  NIGHTS" 

if  he  weighed  about  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds,  a  human  skeleton.  As  I  said,  "What 
are  we  going  to  sing?"  he  threw  back  his  head 
and  bellowed  out:  "Twinkle,  twinkle,  little 
star." 

We  did  not  sing  it,  but  we  started  the  meet- 
ing. It  was  indeed  an  interesting  meeting. 
He  had  the  bigger  hearing  part  of  the  time, 
and  I  had  the  bigger  hearing  the  other  part 
of  the  time.  In  the  middle  of  my  address,  I 
told  the  following  story,  and  as  I  told  the 
story  my  long,  lean,  Australian  friend  forgot 
to  talk. 

The  first  year  I  left  home  to  enter  the  War 
Zone,  my  wife,  little  daughter  and  little  son 
went  down  to  the  boat  to  say  goodbye  to  me. 
My  little  son  as  he  looked  me  in  the  eye,  said: 

"Dad,  I  am  not  going  to  cry." 

As  I  went  to  the  boat  he  stood  on  the  pier, 
biting  his  lips,  watching  the  boat  slowly  leav- 
ing the  dock,  but  he  did  not  cry.  Feeling  that 
the  strain  had  been  too  great  on  him,  I  told 
him  as  I  was  leaving  the  second  year  for 
Egypt: 

"Now,  Jay,  if  you  have  to  cry  today,  do  it 
209 


OUT  THERE 

and  it  is  all  right,  but  we  will  try  to  keep  a 
stiff  upper  lip." 

"AU  right,  Dad,  I  will  try." 

We  went  down  to  the  boat,  and  he  bit  his 
little  lips  until  they  turned  purple,  and  he  did 
not  cry,  though  he  came  near  to  it.  As  the 
big  liner  backed  out  into  the  river  and  turned 
her  nose  down  toward  the  great  ocean,  I  filled 
my  eyes  with  the  last  sight  of  those  three  loved 
ones  standing  on  the  dock  waving  their  Httle 
blue  flags  as  they  faded  out  of  sight. 

There  came  this  week  a  letter  from  a  friend 
of  mine  who  stood  on  the  pier  beside  my  little 
boy  as  the  boat  left.  He  said  that  as  the  boat 
got  out  into  the  river,  my  little  son  seemed 
to  forget  everybody  on  the  pier.  All  he  could 
think  of  was  his  dad,  and  that  his  dad  was 
leaving  him.  As  he  looked  at  the  ship,  he 
threw  out  his  hands  and  cried  at  the  top  of 
his  voice: 

"That  ship  cannot  sink  because  my  daddy 
said  so." 

My  friend  said  there  was  not  a  dry  eye 
around  them.  He  believed  in  his  dad,  and  his 
dad  had  said  that  that  was  an  American  ship 

210 


"EGYPTIAN  NIGHTS" 

and  it  was  not  going  to  sink  and  he  believed 
him. 

"Men,  tonight  that  little  son  of  mine  thinks 
I  am  the  biggest  man  in  the  world.  He 
would  not  think  of  trading  me  for  the  Presi- 
dent. 

"Tonight  on  this  desert,  there  is  not  a  man 
who  isn't  the  biggest  man  in  the  world  to 
somebody.  Somebody  loves  you  more  than 
any  other  thing  in  all  the  world,  and  beheves 
in  you.  Somebody  thinks  you  are  just  the 
one  feUow  in  aU  the  world.  Men,  tonight  I 
would  rather  the  cables  would  carry  back  to 
that  little  son  and  daughter  of  mine  and  my 
wife,  the  news  that  my  bones  were  baking 
under  the  Egyptian  sun,  or  rotting  in  a  Teu- 
tonic prison  camp,  than  to  have  the  news  go 
to  them  that  I  have  stood  in  that  line  of  men 
in  Alexandria  or  Cairo  going  as  sheep  to  the 
slaughter,  forgetting  home,  love  and  honor. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  No,  you  would 
rather  have  them  know  you  were  dead  than 
to  have  them  know  you  had  been  untrue.  For 
after  all,  it  is  not  material  things  that  count 
in  this  world.     We  have  learned  that.     It  is 

211 


OUT  THERE 

not  the  thrills  of  life  that  count.  It  is  only* 
the  man  that  counts.  It  is  character  that 
counts,  and  you  would  not  want  that  person 
to  know  that  you  had  been  untrue." 

The  men  on  the  desert  caught  the  story. 
My  lean  Australian  friend's  head  went  down 
on  his  chest.  We  just  had  one  speaker  after 
that. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  when  I  asked 
these  men  who  wanted  to  swear  to  God  that 
they  would  be  true  and  clean,  to  stand  up, 
my  Australian  friend  was  the  first  to  stand. 
Jle  came  up  afterwards,  shoved  out  his  bony 
liand  and  said: 

"I  want  to  shake  hands  with  you.  I  stood 
in  that  line  in  Alexandria  which  you  were 
talking  about,  less  than  a  week  ago.  I  have 
been  a  scoundrel,  I  have  not  played  the  game 
square.  If  you  will  pray  for  me,  by  God's 
help  I  will  be  true  to  my  little  wife  and  kiddies 
back  in  Australia." 

I  would  rather  have  heard  those  words  that 
night  than  any  other  words.  "I  am  going 
to  be  true  to  the  folks  back  home." 

Hardship,  sacrifice  and  death  is  the  every- 
212 


"EGYPTIAN  NIGHTS" 

day  life  of  the  men  who  have  gone  forth  to 
make  the  world  "safe  for  democracy."  Not 
only  must  they  face  the  enemy's  bullets,  but 
the  men  who  have  gone  down  into  the  desert 
must  face  privation,  heat,  thirst  and  the  lonely 
camp  life,  hundreds  of  miles  from  water  and 
cooling  shade. 

Just  before  I  arrived  at  the  Lybian  outpost, 
.two  aeroplanes  were  sent  out  on  a  scouting 
trip,  miles  and  miles  from  camp.  One  of 
them  broke  down  and  the  other  came  back  to 
camp  for  help.  It  seems  that  the  one  that 
broke  down  must  have  finally  been  repaired, 
because  when  they  went  back  with  water  and 
help  it  was  gone.  For  days  and  days  they 
hunted  and  finally  found  the  machine  where 
it  had  again  broken  down.  The  pilot  had 
shot  himself.  The  mechanic  had  died  of  thirst. 
The  mechanic  had  left  a  note,  telling  of  the 
pilot's  death.  From  what  could  be  gathered 
it  was  evident  that  the  pilot  had  taken  his  own 
life,  thinking  the  mechanic,  a  mere  lad,  might 
live  on  the  little  water  which  was  left  until 
help  came. 

He  gave  his  life  that  his  friend  might  live. 
213 


OUT  THERE 

[But  help  came  too  late.  The  mechanic  had 
drunk  all  of  the  water  and  had  even  broken 
the  compass  and  drunk  the  spirits  in  order 
to  quench  that  mad-driving  thirst.  But  the 
desert  claimed  him  as  its  own. 

The  Red  Triangle  has  come  to  mean  ser- 
vice, service  for  soldiers  whether  at  base 
camps,  at  the  front  or  a  lonely  desert  outpost. 

In  one  of  the  desert  camps  it  was  near 
midnight  when  a  lieutenant  roused  our  secre- 
tary after  a  busy  day,  with  the  words:  "Can 
you  do  anything  for  my  men?  Provisions  are 
out  and  we've  marched  20  miles  since  early 
afternoon."  And  shortly  the  700  dust-cov- 
ered, weary  men  whose  tongues  were  well 
nigh  hanging  out  were  served  hot  cocoa  and 
tea  and  lime  juice  and  cake.  They  marched 
off  again  at  3  A.  M.  in  new  spirits.  At  3.30 
another  officer  broke  in  asking  that  something 
be  done  for  his  70  men.  In  twenty  minutes 
the  secretary  and  his  force  were  serving  them. 
Night  or  day  the  work  goes  on. 

At  the  close  of  a  hot  and  scorching  day,  in 
the  calm  and  quiet  evening  twilight,  the  fol- 
lowing story  of  heroic  sacrifice  was  told  me 

214 


"EGYPTIAN  NIGHTS" 

by  Roy  Clark,  an  Australian  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
Secretary  for  oversea  troops. 

In  the  summer  of  1916,  many  of  the  Aus- 
tralian troops  that  had  been  in  Gallipoli,  and 
were  now  in  Egypt,  were  being  moved  to 
the  Western  front.  Practically  all  of  these 
men  who  had  been  through  the  hell  of  the  Dar- 
danelles were  keen  and  anxious  to  go  to  the 
Western  front,  as  most  of  them  were  under 
the  impression  that  they  would  see  very  httle 
service  in  Egypt.  The  men  who  were  being 
moved  to  the  Western  front  were  counting 
themselves  lucky,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  they  knew  exactly  what  they  were  going 
to  face. 

Two  Australian  divisions  were  leaving 
Egypt  for  France.  A  trooper  in  the  Light 
Horse,  whose  soul  was  pulsating  with  patriot- 
ism and  whose  division  was  not  going  forward, 
smuggled  himself  aboard  one  of  the  trans- 
ports. 

In  due  course  he  was  discovered,  placed 
under  guard  and  returned  from  France  to  his 
own  division  back  in  Egypt.  When  he  arrived 
at  his  unit  he  was  tried  and  court  martialed. 

215 


OUT  THERE 

It  was  two  days  before  a  famous  fight.  On 
the  day  of  the  battle,  the  pressure  became  so 
tense  and  so  crucial  that  every  man  was 
needed  to  fight.  The  trooper  for  a  little 
while  was  left  unguarded. 

He  was  unarmed.  But  the  trooper,  who 
was  not  a  coward,  because  it  had  been  his  very 
bravery  that  had  gotten  him  into  such  serious 
difficulty,  forgetting  all  but  his  love  for  coun- 
try, immediately  went  to  work  without  orders 
and,  in  defiance  of  his  arrest,  that  day  under 
fire  brought  in  fifteen  men. 

At  the  close  of  the  day  his  brave  chest 
stopped  a  stray  bullet,  and  he  "went  west." 

His  Colonel  told  the  story  at  the  hospital 
and  said  that  he  had  been  recommended  for 
the  D.  C.  M.     He  was  asked: 

"How  about  the  court  martial?" 

The  colonel  naively  replied:  "The  papers 
have  been  lost." 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that 
a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

"where  there  ain't  no  ten  command- 
ments" 

Early  in  the  war  it  became  apparent  that 
Egypt  once  more  was  to  take  her  place  on 
the  World  Stage.  Egypt  is  the  gateway  to 
the  Orient,  through  which  Germany  believed 
she  might  enter  in  her  policy  of  alienating 
India  from  Britain.  At  the  same  time  she 
would  draw  together  the  Moslem  world  in 
her  damnable  program  of  arraying  the  Mo- 
hammedan world  against  the  Allies.  Like- 
wise the  Suez  Canal  is  the  strategic  artery 
of  the  British  Empire,  connecting  India, 
Australia  and  New  Zealand  with  the  Mother 
Country. 

Germany,  through  Turkey,  began  her  cam- 
paign against  the  Canal.  As  far  as  battles 
go,  the  battles  on  the  desert  sands  have  been 
far  overshadowed  as  we  view  the  battles  of 
the  Western  front.  But  from  a  military  and 
political  viewpoint  they  have  been  of  first 
importance. 

Across  the  sands  the  Turks  came  in  their 
217 


OUT  THERE 

effort  to  dislodge  Britain  from  the  Canal. 
Back,  back  they  have  been  driven  until  Je- 
rusalem once  more  rests  in  Christian  hands. 
In  the  Lybian  Desert  the  Senussi  have  risen 
only  to  be  driven  to  the  oasis  in  the  heart  of 
the  great  wastes,  there  to  be  defeated  and 
disbanded. 

These  operations  have  been  of  great  im- 
portance. Mr.  Lloyd  George  has  said,  "They 
have  played  a  considerable  part  in  the  for- 
tunes of  the  war.  It  is  such  ancient  history 
now  that  we  have  almost  forgotten  that, 
after  the  evacuation  of  Gallipoli,  Egypt  was 
supposed  to  be  in  danger,  and  the  Turks 
launched  at  least  two  desperate  efforts  to 
dislodge  us  from  the  Sinai  Peninsula  and  the 
Canal.  Those  attacks  were  repelled  and  the 
British  Army,  after  rendering  the  position 
in  Egypt  secure,  was  able  to  carry  out  the 
long-meditated  advance,  clear  Sinai  and  the 
Canal,  and  move  forward  to  Jerusalem.  The 
Egyptian  Campaign  has  not  been  without 
its  episodes  of  hard  fighting  and  personal 
heroism,  but  it  is  as  a  triumph  of  scientific 
organization   that   I   would   especially   men- 

218 


THERE  AINT  NO  COMMANDMENTS 

tion  it.  In  the  operations  that  are  going  on 
in  Palestine,  every  pound  of  stores,  every 
gallon  of  water  that  is  drunk  by  the  troops, 
has  to  be  carried  all  the  way  from  Egypt 
across  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  desert. 
This  is  a  feat  that  rivals  what  has  been  ac- 
complished so  successfully  in  France." 

Into  Egypt  at  the  beginning  of  the  war 
were  sent  the  care-free,  happy-go-lucky  lads 
from  far-distant  Australia  and  New  Zealand. 
They  are  much  like  a  group  of  school  boys 
off  on  a  lark.  In  those  days  little  did  they 
realize  the  awful  Gallipoli  days  that  were 
ahead  of  them. 

Certainly  no  finer  type  of  physical  beings 
ever  answered  one  country's  call.  They 
looked  Hke  Roman  gods  and  walked  like 
kings.  They  owned  no  master  and  came 
only  through  love  and  loyalty  to  their  coun- 
try's call. 

Most  of  their  officers  were  like  their  men, 
happy,  care-free,  honest  and  straightforward. 
They  feared  neither  man  nor  devil.  The 
following  story  is  rather  descriptive  of  these 
remarkable  almost  supermen: 

^19 


OUT  THERE 

Into  Shepherd's  Hotel  in  Cairo  there 
strolled  an  Australian  Colonel  who  had  been 
sent  over  on  some  special  work.  He  had 
been  a  business  man  back  in  Australia,  and 
had  been  commissioned  and  sent  out  just  a 
short  time  before.  As  he  walked  into  the 
lobby  of  the  hotel,  he  observed  an  old  British 
General.  Meaning  no  offense  whatever,  the 
Colonel  waved  his  hand  in  a  careless  way  and 
said,  "Good  evening." 

The  old  General,  horrified  at  such  disre- 
spect, straightened  up  and  stared  at  the 
Colonel. 

The  Colonel  strolled  over,  never  realizing 
what  was  the  matter. 

"Is  something  wrong?" 

"Young  man,  how  long  have  you  worn  that 
uniform?" 

"Oh,  just  a  few  weeks.  How  long  have 
you  worn  yours?" 

The  old  General,  almost  jumping  from  his 
chair,  replied: 

"Thirty-five  years." 

"That's  a  devil  of  a  wliile  to  wear  a  uni- 
form, isn't  it?" 

220 


THERE  AIN'T  NO  COMMANDMENTS 

The  old  General  by  this  time  was  grow- 
ing almost  frantic. 

"Young  man,  have  you  read  the  King's 
regulations?" 

"No,  I  have  not  had  time." 

"This  is  dreadful,  this  is  dreadful!" 

"Old  man,  I  don't  know  what  you  are 
trying  to  say  to  me,  but  all  I  got  to  say  is 
you're  damn  funny."    And  off  he  strolled. 

Did  he  mean  to  be  disrespectful?  No. 
He  was  only  a  typical  Australian  that  would 
fight  to  the  death,  but  could  not  see  any 
need  of  too  much  formal  discipline. 

Before  Gallipoli  such  conduct  was  misun- 
derstood, but  after  they  were  purged  by  fire 
and  death,  and  after  the  word  had  come 
forth  from  Gallipoli  from  the  Brigadier 
"that  no  fighter  can  surpass  Australians," 
no  one  misunderstood  them.  It  was  quite 
sufficient  to  say,  "He  is  an  Australian." 
That  smnmed  up  all. 

Into  camp  they  went  under  the  shadow  of 
the  pyramids,  with  the  "centuries  looking 
down  upon  them." 

After  the  work  of  the  day,   these  great 
221 


OUT  THERE 

husky  farmer  lads  have  no  place  to  go  out- 
side of  their  own  crowded  little  bell  tents. 
As  evening  comes,  those  on  leave  go  down 
through  the  beautiful  rows  of  trees  under 
the  spell  of  an  oriental  evening  into  romantic 
and  mystical  Cairo.  If  one  had  watched 
them  he  would  have  made  up  his  mind  they 
feared  the  war  was  about  over,  and  they 
would  need  to  hurry  if  they  expected  to 
purchase  Cairo  before  they  left  for  home. 
They  left  a  silver  path  behind  them,  and  un- 
doubtedly every  Egyptian  made  up  his  mind 
that  their  pockets  had  a  silver  lining.  The 
ordinary  British  soldier  got  one  bob  a  day, 
or  twenty-five  cents ;  the  Australians  and  New 
Zealanders,  six  bob,  or  a  dollar  fifty  a  day. 
On  account  of  their  free,  easy,  spending  way, 
they  were  nicknamed  "The  Six  Bob  a  Day 
Tourists." 

Cairo,  in  those  days,  was  all  that  has  been 
written  about  it,  and  then  some.  The  Waza 
was  possibly  the  vilest  and  most  seductive 
red-light  district  the  hcentious  East  has  pro- 
duced. Here  was  concentrated  the  vice  of 
the  Orient.    It  had  also  become  the  dimiping 

222 


THERE  AINT  NO  COMMANDMENTS 

ground  of  all  Europe.  These  Australian  lads 
found  themselves  in  this  environment  with 
plenty  of  money,  with  all  the  allurement  of 
sin  on  every  side,  and  not  one  single  hotel 
or  restaurant  in  Cairo  where  he  could  get  a 
cup  of  tea,  or  write  a  letter,  without  being 
subjected  to  demorahzing  influences,  such  as 
exist  in  all  oriental  cities.  Large  camps 
were  established  on  the  outskirts  of  the  cities 
Mena,  Zeiton,  Hehopolis  and  Maadi.  The 
troops  came  to  town  nightly  by  the  thou- 
sands, and  quite  naturally,  as  no  other  pro- 
yision  had  been  made,  they  swarmed  to  the 
quarter  which  offered  most  diversion. 

.Wilham  Jessop,  Head  Secretary  of  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  Forces  in  Egypt,  moved  forward  as 
only  a  prophet  and  a  general  could  move  for- 
ward. When  the  forces  began  to  land  in 
Egypt,  he  was  the  one  lone  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
secretary.  He  went  to  his  board  and  asked 
for  fimids  to  begin  work  among  the  soldiers. 
His  board,  with  what  they  considered  a  great 
faith,  voted  that  he  could  spend  one  hundred 
dollars  in  looking  after  these  thousands  of 
men,  providing  he  secured  the  money. 

223 


OUT  THERE 

But  the  undaunted  Jessop  moved  forward, 
and  today  the  red  triangle  floats  in  every 
single  military  camp  in  Egypt.  Hundreds 
of  thousands  of  dollars  are  being  spent.  Tens 
of  thousands  of  men  are  being  served.  I  have 
gone  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  great 
Desert  Camps.  In  every  single  camp  vis- 
ited I  saw  the  "Red  Triangle"  flying.  There 
are  nearly  a  hundred  Y.  M.  C.  A.  centers 
with  the  Egyptian  army,  and  today  Cairo  is 
as  clean  a  city  as  any  in  the  war  zone. 

However,  that  first  year  of  the  war  in 
Cairo,  many  men  went  down  not  with  bullets, 
but  with  the  mark  of  the  beast  upon  them. 

The  saddest  thing  I  have  seen  in  the  war 
zone  is  not  the  men  coming  back  from  No 
Man's  Land,  torn  and  mangled.  No  one 
ever  forgets  that,  as  he  goes  into  certain  hos- 
pitals surrounded  by  barb-wire  fences,  every 
man  in  the  hospital  is  there  because  of  his 
own  sin. 

I  have  spoken  with  them  on  some  Chris- 
tian theme,  and  afterwards  they  have  come 
up  and  said : 

"Oh!  yes,  what  you  say  is  true.     We  are 
224 


At  the  Outpost  of  the  Empire 


After  the  Waza  War 


THERE  AIN'T  NO  COMMANDMENTS 

going  to  play  the  game  square  from  now  on, 
but  what  is  the  use?  We  cannot  go  home. 
I  cannot  go  back  and  look  my  sweetheart 
in  the  face.  She  can  never  be  my  wife.  I 
can  never  go  back  to  my  wife  or  face  my 
mother  with  this  thing  on  me.  I  have  said 
to  the  Commander,  'Patch  me  up,  get  me  to 
the  front  line  trench ;  I  cannot  go  home.'  " 

How  could  you  ever  forget  those  words! 

The  question  of  a  man's  keeping  clean  is 
not  a  question  of  a  man's  relation  to  his  God 
alone.  The  matter  of  keeping  clean  includes 
the  question  of  a  man's  relation  to  his  coun- 
try. Your  country  needs  you  to  go  forward. 
The  time  has  come  to  go.  Never  has  our 
nation  faced  such  a  struggle  as  it  is  facing 
today.  Never  was  every  single  man  needed 
as  he  is  needed  at  the  present,  and  you  can- 
not go. 

You  are  unfit  for  service,  a  traitor  to 
your  country. 

It  is  rather  remarkable,  when  one  considers 
the  large  number  of  men  in  the  armies  of 
today,  how  small  a  per  cent  are  out  of  action 
because  of   sin.     The  Waza  war  has   been 

227 


OUT  THERE 

unheard  of  in  America.  However,  it  is  one 
of  the  finest  examples  of  an  army's  deter- 
mination to  rid  itself  of  a  subtle  enemy, 
lurking  near  its  own  camp. 

One  night  the  Australians  turned  out  three 
thousand  strong  to  burn  and  destroy  "The 
Waza" — the  red-light  district  of  Cairo — and 
had  not  their  own  troops  been  called  upon 
to  quell  the  riot  the  Waza  would  have  be- 
come history  that  night. 

I  have  come  to  the  conviction  that  army 
commanders  are  more  concerned  with  the 
morals  of  their  men  than  any  of  us  can  pos- 
sibly reahze.  A  man  who  goes  down  with 
a  bullet  is  out  of  the  game — ^is  neither  an 
asset  nor  a  liability. 

But  the  man  who  goes  down  with  the  mark 
of  the  beast  upon  him  becomes  a  liabiUty. 
He  is  out  of  the  game,  for  he  cannot  go  to 
the  front.  Some  of  them  have  to  be  sent 
home,  and  not  only  does  he  become  a  Hability, 
but  he  requires  well  men  to  take  care  of  him. 

The  development  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  work 
in  Egypt  is  one  of  the  modern  miracles.  It 
is   a   tribute   to   the   fine   Christian   military 

228 


THERE  AINT  NO  COMMANDMENTS 

commanders.  The  Association  was  called 
upon  to  help  solve  the  problem.  The  mili- 
tary authorities  turned  over  to  it  the  Ezbe- 
kiyeh  Gardens,  a  beautiful  public  park  in 
the  heart  of  Cairo.  The  grounds  are  large 
enough  to  accommodate  thousands  of  men. 

The  motto  from  the  start  was;  "Something 
doing  every  night." 

Concerts,  lectures,  cinema,  wrestling,  box- 
ing, fencing,  rink  hockey,  races,  writing  and 
reading  facihties,  hot  and  cold  shower  baths, 
and  a  well-equipped  refreshment  bar  were 
provided,  in  fact  everything  that  a  well- 
organized  club  could  have.  The  refreshment 
bar  was  run  by  a  group  of  devoted  English 
women  who  brought  into  the  Garden  the 
home  touch.  It  was  not  an  uncommon  sight 
to  see  thousands  of  soldiers  seated  at  once 
writing  home  letters,  and  four  to  five  thou- 
sand at  a  cinema  show,  wrestling  match,  or 
a  rehgious  meeting. 

In  addition  to  the  Ezbekiyeh  Garden,  the 
Military  turned  over  a  large  building,  known 
as  the  "Bourse  Khediviale"  (Board  of 
Trade).    It  was  renamed  the  Anzac  Hostel. 

229 


OUT  THERE 

It  was  to  be  used  as  a  hostel  or  hotel.  The 
Military  gave  twelve  thousand  dollars  to 
equip  it.  Hundreds  of  men  found  a  place 
to.  go  and  spend  the  night,  when  on  leave, 
under  clean,  wholesome  influences. 

No  longer  can  the  soldiers  who  are  sent 
to  Egypt  say,  "Ship  me  somewhere  East  of 
Suez,  where  the  best  is  like  the  worst;  where 
there  ain't  no  Ten  Commandments,  and  a 
man  can  raise  a  thirst,"  for  today  near  the 
reputed  site  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  fifty 
secretaries  are  at  work  safeguarding  the  sol- 
diers against  the  seductions  of  evil;  and  here 
the  "Tree  of  Life"  bears  its  fruit  for  the 
healing  of  the  nations. 

On  plains  where  Abraham  may  have 
pitched  his  tent  and  Lot  turned  toward 
Sodom,  the  Association  has  pitched  scores  of 
its  marquees,  each  gathering  two  hundred  to 
five  hundred  soldiers  in  friendly  shelter. 

Over  the  way  where  the  traders'  caravan 
traversed  the  desert,  bringing  Joseph  into 
slavery,  the  Association's  caravan  mth  a  hun- 
dred camels  passes  with  supplies  for  the  As- 
sociation's farthest  desert  outposts. 

230 


THERE  AIN'T  NO  COMMANDMENTS 

In  the  city  where  Joseph  got  his  wife  are 
seven  Association  centers.  At  Assut,  where 
Joseph  stored  corn  to  feed  the  famine,  the 
Association  meets  dearth  with  creature  com- 
forts. 

On  the  same  burning  sands  over  which  the 
children  of  Israel  made  their  wilderness  wan- 
derings, soldiers  are  doing  forced  marches. 
Sweet  as  manna  are  the  buns  and  cakes  and 
cheer  and  comfort  with  the  Bread  of  Life 
that  is  given  there. 

Under  the  shadow  of  Mount  Sinai,  where 
Moses  received  the  tables  of  Ten  Command- 
ments, and  the  Voice  proclaimed  "The  Lord 
God  merciful  and  gracious,"  thousands  of 
soldiers  wrote  home  from  the  Association's 
tents  that  there  God's  sons  are  as  living 
epistles,  interpreting  His  new  commandment, 
"That  Ye  Love  One  Another." 

Near  where  Moses  struck  the  rock  and 
waters  gushed  forth  is  another  Association 
"Center"  which  provides  refreshments  for  the 
King's  men,  parched  and  wearied  from  blis- 
tering marches. 

Along  the  route  into  Egypt  taken  by  Jo- 
231 


OUT  THERE 

seph  and  Mary  with  the  child  Jesus,  the 
Association  sets  up  its  hospitable  tents  to 
harbor  and  hearten  the  away-from-home  sol- 
dier. 

At  Alexandria,  on  the  Mediterranean  at 
the  gateway  from  Egypt  to  Africa,  at  the 
Port  of  Suez,  where  Mark,  the  Apostle,  first 
preached  the  Gospel  to  a  handful,  the  Asso- 
ciation greeted  or  sped  on  their  homeward 
way  a  full  hundred  thousand  soldiers,  in  the 
spirit  of  that  same  GospeL 


CHAPTER   XVII 

"l   JUST   WANT   TO   DO    MY    BIT" 

I  have  come  back  from  "out  there"  with 
the  reahzation  that  we  must  win  the  war,  and 
that  it  cannot  be  won  by  buying  Liberty 
Bonds,  giving  to  the  Red  Cross  or  Y.  M. 
C.  A.,  by  bursts  of  enthusiasm,  or  by  wav- 
ing of  flags  and  speechmaking  alone. 

The  war  must  be  won  by  the  lads  that  go 
over  the  top  and  don't  come  back. 

This  fact  we  must  face. 

Britain  has  been  pouring  in  an  endless 
stream  of  human  life.  In  fact  her  smallest 
number  of  casualties  in  one  month  since 
1914  has  been  thirty  thousand,  while  this 
last  November  they  reached  one  hundred  and 
twenty-nine  thousand. 

France  has  been  giving,  giving,  giving, 
until  she  is  now  bleeding  white.  In  fact  all 
of  our  Allies  have  been  pouring  in  their  best 
to  stem  the  tide  of  the  barbaric  Teutonic 
onslaught. 

America  has  entered  at  a  time  when  our 
233 


OUT  THERE 

very  soul  was  on  trial.  Three  years  we  have 
been  a  bystander  at  the  ringside  of  the 
world's  battle  for  democracy.  We  had  be- 
come hardened  to  the  reports  of  awful  slaugh- 
ter and  month-long  battles.  No  longer  will 
a  story  in  the  morning  papers  of  a  capture 
of  a  mile  of  trenches  be  a  mere  historical  fact, 
not  when  it  is  our  own  kith  and  kin  who  are 
out  in  those  trenches  in  the  death  grapple. 
Things  have  changed  in  one  short  year. 

In  1916,  when  I  returned  from  the  war 
zone,  I  came  back  speaking  of  our  country 
as  possibly  the  most  misunderstood  country 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  Germans  hated 
us.  They  were  saying,  "We  could  win  the 
war  if  America  would  stay  out  and  not  sup- 
ply the  Allies  with  munitions.'* 

In  September,  1917,  I  found  in  the  bot- 
tom of  a  German  gas  mask  a  copy  of  a  Ger- 
man newspaper  of  February  which  best  tells 
Germany's  attitude  toward  America  before 
our  entry  into  the  war. 

FolloTving  is  the  translation: 

Soldiers'  Edition  of  the  Christian  Mes- 
senger, Sunday,  February  25,  1917. 

234 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

Things  Temporal 

"Quite  contrary  to  his  expectation,  Wil- 
son, with  his  appeal  to  the  neutral  states,  has 
suffered  a  diplomatic  defeat.  Not  even  the 
South  American  States,  of  whose  following 
the  President  believed  himself  sure,  have 
joined  the  poHcy  of  the  United  States,  not  to 
mention  the  European  States  who  will  take 
care  not  to  allow  themselves  unawares  to  be- 
come entangled  in  a  war  with  the  Central 
Powers. 

*'For  us  the  suspicion  seems  even  more 
than  justified  that  there  exists  between  Eng- 
land and  America  another  one  of  those  secret 
treaties  such  as  this  war  has  already  brought 
to  hght  in  several  cases.  If  that  were  a  fact, 
then  Mr.  Wilson's  attitude  would  be  quite 
clear.  Now  we'll  see  whether  America  will 
go  so  far  as  to  allow  its  citizens  to  sail  to 
England  on  armed  passenger  steamers,  in 
order  to  have,  in  case  of  the  torpedoing  of 
such  a  vessel,  a  cause  for  declaring  war  on 
Germany. 

"They  tell  of  two  American  steamers  that 
have  sailed  for  the  coast  of  France  without 

235 


OUT  THERE 

using  the  stripes  demanded  by  Germany  for 
their  protection.     Yes,  and  this  seems  quite 
American,  they  say  they  made  a  wager  as  to 
which   ship  would  arrive   first.     That  is  to 
say,  America's  attitude  towards  the  question 
whether  there  will  be  war  between  Germany 
and    America  is  that  of  a  sportsman.     One 
cannot  imderstand  such  actions,  though  they 
may  suit   an  Enghshman   or  an  American. 
For  us,  it  seems  too  frivolous.     If  one  of 
these  vessels,  or  indeed  both,  are  sent  to  the 
bottom  and  if  incomparably  precious  Amer- 
ican lives  are  risked,  or  if  one  or  another  of 
the  travelers  is  lost,  then  America  will  make 
in  the  name  of  humanity  and  international 
law   a   casus  belli.     We   cannot   allow   our- 
selves for  a  single  moment  to  be  led  astray 
by  these  and  similar  manoeuvres;  we  must  go 
our  way  quietly  but  firmly.     That  our  ene- 
mies are  lamed  with  fear,  we  notice  from  the 
reports.     Our  submarines  are  sinking  more 
boats  than  ever.    The  seamen  are  refusing  to 
sail  with  their  vessels,  for  their  lives  are  not 
held  so  cheap  by  them  as  to  risk  them  lightly. 
"We  have  left  to  the  Enghshmen  the  vil- 
236 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

lage  of  Grandcourt  on  the  West  Front. 
They  did  not  capture  it,  but  we  quietly  with- 
drew, since  our  men  were  too  much  exposed 
there  to  enemy  fire." 

POEM 

*'tO    the    GERMAN    KAISEe" 

Twice  worthy  of  the  Imperial  Crown 
Thee  sorrow  tried,  we  now  do  own, 

Great  Comrade,  battle  won. 

Thou  strong  and  frank,  that  war  might  cease 

Didst  offer  to  the  enemy  peace. 
Thy  reward  is  now  their  scorn. 

But  thee  we  follow,  one  and  all. 

Still  further,  to  the  steel  sword's  call, 

In  this,  the  Holy  War, 

Thou  leadst  us.  Blessed  of  the  Lord, 

The  people's  star  and  valiant  guard, 
Where  peace  and  victory  are. 

So  much  for  the  German  attitude. 

The  Allies  were  saying,  "Oh,  yes,  you  are 
too  proud  to  fight,  but  you  are  not  too  proud 
to  take  our  dollars."  All  of  them  knew  that 
during  those  first  two  years  of  the  war  Amer- 
ica's income  increased  many  billions  of  dol- 
lars. "Too  proud  to  fight,  but  not  too  proud 
to  rake  in  our  gold."  "We  cannot  imder- 
stand  how  a  nation  that  boasts  of  democracy 

237 


OUT  THERE 

and  liberty,  as  yours  boasts,  can  stand  by 
and  see  your  women  and  children  sent  to  the 
bottom  of  the  Atlantic."  For,  as  our  hon- 
ored ex -President  Taft  has  said,  those  women 
and  children  were  as  much  entitled  to  the 
protection  of  the  American  flag  as  the  wom- 
en and  children  in  any  village  or  city  of 
America. 

In  fact,  Americans  were  speculating  and 
talking  about  when  the  war  would  end  as  if 
it  were  some  great  athletic  game.  Little  did 
we  realize  what  a  gigantic  struggle  was  in 
progress.  There  seemed  to  be  a  general 
feeling  everywhere  that  the  war  would  soon 
be  over.  I  have  recalled  a  great  many  times 
the  words  of  our  American  Ambassador,  Mr. 
Sharpe,  who,  talking  with  me  just  before  I 
left  Paris  for  America  in  1916,  said: 

"People  in  America  do  not  realize  condi- 
tions when  they  talk  about  the  conclusion 
of  the  war.  I  can  conceive  of  the  war  going 
on  at  least  another  three  years.  Both  sides 
are  so  evenly  matched  and  they  have  such 
unhmited  numbers  of  men." 

I  think  I  can  best  explain  the  feeling  of 
038 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

last  year  by  an  experience  I  had  one  night 
at  an  officers'  mess,  with  the  army  that  has 
so  persistently  and  successfully  knocked  at 
the  doors  of  Jerusalem. 

After  mess,  one  young"  Major  was  very 
particular  that  I  should  not  get  away  until 
he  knew  that  I  was  made  aware  of  what  they 
thought  of  America.     He  said: 

"By  the  way,  have  you  ever  been  at 
Salonika?" 
"No,  I  have  not  been  at  Salonika." 
"Of  course,  that  is  not  strange.  Every- 
body is  there  but  the  Americans.  However, 
we  get  a  journalist  coming  through  occa- 
sionally. I  have  just  come  over  from  Salon- 
ika. The  other  day,  after  one  of  our  battles, 
one  of  your  American  journalists  came  in 
and  looked  aroimd  and  said: 

"*Jimminy,  but  that  was  some  fight!* 
"One  of  our  men  looked  at  him  and  said: 
"  *Yes,  some  fight,  and  some  don'V  " 
That  was  the  spirit  over  there  last  year. 
Some  nations  fight  for  their  rights  and  some 
nations  do  not. 

On    my   return   to    Europe    after    Amer- 
239 


OUT  THERE 

ica's  entry  into  the  war  I  found  an  abso- 
lutely different  feeling.  I've  stood  in  Lon- 
don and  seen  hundreds  and  thousands  of  their 
own  men  go  off  to  the  front  without  even 
the  clapping  of  hands,  but  the  day  the  Amer- 
ican soldiers  marched  through  her  streets, 
staid  old  London  fairly  went  wild  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

They  actually  tried  to  cut  the  buttons  off 
our  boys'  coats  as  a  souvenir  of  the  day  that 
America  entered  the  fight  for  democracy. 

Some  change  from  last  year. 

The  same  men  who  were  saying  to  me 
last  year,  "What  is  the  matter  with  Amer- 
ica?" are  saying  today,  "Oh,  your  President 
was  exactly  right.  He  played  it  just  right." 
I  remember  one  particular  friend  who  last 
year  said,  "I  cannot  understand  your  Presi- 
dent"; a  British  officer,  saying  to  me  this 
year,  "When  the  time  comes  for  the  Peace 
Conference,  I  hope  that  Woodrow  Wilson 
sits  at  the  head  of  the  peace  table."  No 
longer  are  they  saying,  "America  too  proud 
to  fight,"  but  "America,  too,  proud  to  fight!" 

France  is  bleeding,  but  determined,  and 
240 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

her  sister  Republic  enters  into  the  great 
struggle.  Words  cannot  express  the  terrific 
spirit  of  enthusiasm  that  went  sweeping  over 
that  whole  French  Army  when  America  came 
in.  There  is  one  message  that  I  wish  I  might 
bring  home  to  the  camps  in  this  country  be- 
fore I  again  turn  my  face  towards  that  war 
zone.     It  is  this: 

"As  you  go  overseas,  go  not  with  the 
spirit  that  we  have  come  to  finish  the  war; 
that  they  had  to  call  us  in  to  end  it.  Let  us 
go  forward  in  the  spirit  of  humility.  For 
three  long  years  they  have  been  fighting  our 
battles,  and  God  grant  that  we  may  go  for- 
ward in  true  humiHty  of  spirit,  as  we  go 
forward  to  take  up  our  share  of  the  burden.'* 

No,  this  is  no  longer  France's  war  alone. 
This  is  no  longer  Britain's  w^ar  alone.  This 
is  no  longer  Italy's  war  alone,  nor  the  Allies" 
war  alone. 

It  is  om'  war  as  much  as  it  is  their  war, 
and  we  are  determined  that  we  Hkewise  shall 
walk  in  the  path  of  sacrifice,  suffering  and 
death  that  leads  to  victory. 

Now  the  one  thing  I  object  to  these  days 
241 


OUT  THERE 

is  the  talk  that  this  is  a  war  of  atrocities. 
Of  course,  atrocities  have  been  committed 
out  there  that  would  turn  your  hair  white 
if  you  knew  them.  But  the  marvelous  French 
soldiers  and  the  British  soldiers  are  fighting 
not  because  of  atrocities.  They  are  fighting 
not  alone  because  Belgium  has  been  overrun. 
They  are  fighting  not  alone  because  Servia 
has  been  swept  by  the  awful  broom  of  de- 
struction and  death. 

We  are  all  fighting  because  Germany  Has 
tried  to  Prussianize  the  world.  She  has  tried 
to  blot  out  the  most  sacred  words  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  and  French  languages,  Democ- 
racy and  Liberty  and  Justice,  and  we  are  de- 
termined that  those  words  shall  live  forever. 

One  evening,  with  the  head  Australian 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  Secretary,  Mr.  Clark,  I  left 
Cairo  by  fast  express.  The  next  morning 
we  got  off  at  a  httle  desert  station,  from 
which  point  a  tiny  narrow-gauge  railroad 
went  out  into  the  desert.  We  had  a  private 
car  to  ourselves,  but  the  trouble  was  that  it 
had  brought  sick  camels  in  from  the  outlying 

desert  camp. 

242 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

We  traveled  all  day,  the  wonderful  mirages 
arising  before  our  eyes,  and  the  awful,  awful 
heat  of  the  desert  around  us.  We  passed 
through  absolutely  forsaken  barren  places, 
and  late  in  the  afternoon  got  off  the  train 
and  proceeded  by  camel-back  to  the  outposts 
of  the  Empire. 

At  the  very  edge  of  the  Empire  I  found 
a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretary  who  was  truly  ren- 
dering one  of  the  most  unique  pieces  of  ser- 
vice I  have  ever  seen.  The  men  at  the  out- 
post were  living  under  a  temperature  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty  to  one  hundred  and 
thirty  degrees  in  the  shade,  and  the  nearest 
shade  was  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away, 
on  the  Nile. 

MacDiamond,  the  secretary,  had  forgotten 
all  save  his  desire  to  help  these  men.  His 
canteen,  which  was  a  low  mud  shanty,  was 
always  packed  and  no  man  entered  its  door 
without  the  feeling  that  here  was  a  man  who 
cared  for  him.  Xight  after  night  he  was 
disposing  of  gallons  of  hot  cocoa,  for  those 
who  have  hved  in  the  tropics  appreciate  the 
value  of  a  hot  drink. 

243 


OUT  THERE 

I  could  not  keep  from  wondering  if  any, 
of  these  men  would  come  to  a  religious  meet- 
ing when  the  heat  seemed  to  "fairly  make 
your  eyebrows  crawl." 

To  my  surprise,  as  the  evening  came  on, 
the  men  commenced  to  gather  in.  I  stood 
upon  a  box,  and  two  thousand  men,  prac- 
tically every  man  in  the  camp  who  was  off 
duty,  gathered  at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  and 
I  talked  about  sacrifice.  I  should  have  been 
ashamed  to  have  mentioned  the  word,  save  as 
I  told  the  story  of  the  great  sacrifice  of  a 
Man  who  gave  his  hfe  for  men.  They  knew 
more  about  sacrifice  than  I  had  ever  dreamed 
of  knowing. 

And  that  night,  after  I  had  talked  of 
sacrifice  for  an  hour,  I  stopped  speaking  and 
dismissed  them.  We  all  felt  the  presence  of 
God  that  night  in  the  desert.  It  is  only  in 
the  desert  that  the  silence  hurts,  the  awful 
silence  of  the  desert,  the  gripping  power  of 
that  terrific  silence.  And  to  my  surprise, 
for  more  than  twenty-five  minutes  less  than 
twenty  men  got  up  to  go  to  their  bunks — 
not   to   their   tents.     No,   there   were   their 

244 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

rifles,  with  the  bayonets  fixed  into  the  sand 
to  keep  the  sand  out  of  the  mechanism,  al- 
ways ready  for  the  attack  of  the  Senussi. 
And  there  they  sat  on  the  sand  for  ahnost 
thirty  minutes.     No  man  moved. 

Oh,  if  I  could  have  painted  a  picture  that 
night  that  would  have  told  their  thoughts  1 
The  rolling  wheat  fields  of  Australia  would 
have  been  on  that  canvas,  for  the  Australians 
were  there;  and  the  Highlands  of  Scotland, 
for  the  Scots  were  there;  and  the  rolling  hills 
of  Wales,  for  the  Welsh  were  there.  Old 
London  would  have  been  on  that  canvas, 
because  Tommy  proper — and  Tommy  im- 
proper— ^was  therCi 

Finally  they  broke  up,  and  off  to  their 
bunks  they  went.  Long  after  midnight,  as 
I  lay  stretched  on  the  sand,  thinking  of  those 
thousands  of  miles  across  the  sea,  there  came 
tiptoeing  across  the  sand  to  where  I  was 
lying  a  young  Austrahan.  He  looked  down 
and  said: 

"Mister,  are  you  asleep?" 

"No,  I  am  not  asleep."  And  you  would 
not  have  been  asleep  either  if  that  were  your 

245 


OUT  THERE 

second  night  in  a  desert  camp,  and  you  did 
not  know  at  what  minute  the  Senussi  might 
— just  by  chance,  you  know — make  an  attack. 
It  might  only  be  by  chance,  but  you  might 
have  laid  awake  to  think  it  over.  That  is 
what  I  was  doing. 

"Are  you  asleep?" 

"No,  I  am  not  asleep." 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you.  You  know, 
Mister,  tonight  why  we  did  not  leave  you?" 

"No." 

"There  are  a  lot  of  men  in  this  camp  that 
have  not  been  true  to  the  home  folks,  and 
they  are  swearing  to  God  tonight  they  are 
going  to  be  true  and  play  this  game  square; 
but  that  is  not  what  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about.  Mister,  do  you  know  I've  got  to  go 
home  and  I  don't  want  to  go.  I  want  to 
stay  out  here." 

"Well,  now,  that's  too  bad,  but  what's  the 
trouble?" 

"Well,  the  Major,"  referring  to  the  sur- 
geon, "says  I  have  got  to  go  home.  He 
says  one  of  my  lungs  is  on  the  blink;  he 
knows  my  brother  has  been  killed  over  there 

246 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

in  France;  he  knows  my  mother  is  a  widow 
out  there  in  Australia,  and  I  am  the  only 
one  left  in  the  family,  and  he  says  I  have 
got  to  go  home  and  he  is  going  to  give  me 
an  honorable  discharge;  and,  Mister,  I  can- 
not go." 

"That  is  too  bad;  how  long  have  you  been 
out  here?" 

"Three  months." 

"That  is  not  long  to  be  away  from  home." 

"But  hold  on.  Mister."  Drawing  back  his 
little  shoulders,  he  looked  me  in  the  eye  and 
spoke  the  most  eloquent  words  in  the  Aus- 
trahan  vocabulary:  "I  am  an  Anzac.  I  am 
an  Anzac." 

At  GaUipoli,  at  the  Dardanelles  when  the 
orders  came  to  land,  the  Australians  and  the 
New  Zealanders  went  forward.  They  fell 
into  the  waters,  with  their  heads  bobbing  up 
and  down  like  apples  in  a  tub.  They  got 
their  feet  on  the  shores,  on  the  sands  of 
Gallipoli. 

They  were  told  to  take  two  trenches.  They 
went  forward  under  machine  gun  fire  and 
shrapnel  and  took  the  first  line  trench.    They 

247 


OUT  THERE 

took  the  second  line  trench,  and  then,  for- 
getting all  orders,  for  they  did  not  care,  on 
they  went,  and  took  the  third  line  trench 
under  the  shells  from  their  own  guns. 

And  they  held  it.  Because  of  their  mar- 
velous bravery  at  Gallipoli  that  day  they 
named  the  landing  place  Anzac.  Every  man 
that  was  there  from  that  time  on  was  an 
Anzac,  the  Australian-New  Zealand  Army 
Corps,  Anzac. 

"Yes,  I  am  an  Anzac."  I  knew  the  whole 
story.  He  had  seen  more  hell  of  war  than 
any  of  us  have  ever  dreamed  of  seeing.  He 
had  gone  over  those  shell-swept  shores  at 
the  Dardanelles.  And  there  I  stood  with  him, 
an  old  seasoned  warrior  of  the  Dardanelles, 
long  after  midnight,  on  the  very  farthest 
outpost  of  the  British  Empire. 

When  he  looked  at  me,  he  was  crying  like 
a  little  child. 

"Mister  I  don't  want  to  go  home.  I  don't 
want  to  go  home;  I  want  to  stay  here!" 

And  I  put  my  hand  over  on  his  shoulder. 

"My  lad,  you  know  you  lied  to  get  in. 
Tell  me  the  truth.     How  old  are  you?" 

248 


"I  WANT  TO  DO  MY  BIT" 

"Seventeen  years  old.'* 

A  lad.  Yes,  a  mere  boy,  but  he  had  caught 
the  real  spirit  of  sacrificial  service. 

Two  long  years  had  he  stuck  it  out.  He 
had  answered  his  country's  call  at  fifteen 
years  of  age.  Now  an  old  veteran  of  two 
campaigns  he  is  unwilling  to  lay  down  his 
arms,  even  though  he  is  unfit  for  service. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  home,  I  just  want  to 
do  my  bit." 

The  time  has  come  when  before  God  every 
single  man  that  boasts  of  being  an  American, 
squarely,  honestly,  before  God,  says  to  Him: 

"I  want  to  do  my  bit.  I  want  to  do  my 
bit  for  my  home,  for  my  country,  for  myself, 
and  for  my  God." 

Let  us  not  forget  those  who  have  laid 
dowTi  their  lives  that  we  may  have  life  and 
liberty.  But  in  their  sacrifice  let  us  catch  a 
vision  of  the  great  eternal  truths  of  life  and 
go  forward  to  finish  the  work  which  they 
have  begun.  ^2) 


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